Monster Hunter International: Northeast
by jediraptor07
Summary: Steve Cooper was a regular guy with a regular life... until a vampire tried to kill him. Now he's one of MHI's newest recruits, assigned to the company's Northeast Division. Too bad something evil is trying to kill him and his new teammates.
1. Chapter 1: Not So Silent Night

Chapter 1: Not-So-Silent Night

I like kids. I really do. Part of the reason I did that internship with my old 6th grade teacher back when I was in high school was because I like hanging around kids. Heck, when I get married, I'd always planned on having at least three kids, probably more.

However, volunteering in the children's department of my local library made me frequently reconsider that idea.

I was always taught that when you're in a library, then you stay quiet as a mouse. No loud noises, talk in a very hushed whisper, and absolutely no running for any reason. Unfortunately for me, no one seems to have told that to the kids nowadays. They would run through the shelves screaming like little banshees, playing tag with their friends and siblings, and screaming for their parents when they were bored or hungry or thirsty or couldn't find their book they were looking for. And their parents would just tell them to "shush" and not stop them, or else just ignore the little brats. And we're not allowed to discipline them because we might get sued. No lie, it did happen once, and ever since we're not allowed to stop the kids from doing anything unless they're climbing the shelves or doing something else that might end with them hurting themselves or someone else.

Ever feel like putting your head through a wall?

This particular Tuesday evening was, frustratingly, no exception. Actually, it was even worse. There was a program for the Summer Reading Club going on, and that meant even more kids would be in the library, tearing around like little devils and giving me and Kristin, the other Children's volunteer, migraines. Fortunately, that ended for the most part once the program stared; most of the kids were herded into one of the department's meeting rooms by Madison, the head Children's librarian, while the parents (and little siblings, ugh) waited out front for the program to end. The relative peace and quiet gave Kristin and I a chance to get some important work done: checking in the dozens of books, CDs, and DVDs that the kids and their parents returned when they came for the program. That burned up a good half-hour, which was about half the length of the program. Now we just had to get as many books as we could on the shelves before the little brats came screaming back out front.

"I'll take those upstairs," I told Kristen, indicating the pile of books from the main library that had been returned along with the children's books.

"Would you, please?" she asked. Normally, this was no big deal, but the elevator was broken (again), and that meant hauling a bunch of heavy books up a long flight of stairs in heavy canvas bags.

"Sure, not a problem," I said, "I'll be back in a few."

"Don't take too long," she said, "I want to get this done before those monsters come back."

"You and me both," I said with a laugh, ignoring the glares that a trio of soccer moms shot our way. I finished bagging up the books and headed off towards the staircase. At the landing halfway up, I set the bags down for a second to catch my breath. I was nowhere near in the best shape of my life, and those bags were _heavy_!

I got up the rest of the stairs and to the back room of the main library without any further problems and proceeded to stack the books on one of the shelving carts. There were also a handful of books that belonged to other libraries in the county, so I sorted them out separately. Finished, I glanced at the clock; I had just under twenty-five minutes of peace and quiet left. Better make the most of them. I headed out front, passing behind the desk and shooting Susan, the head librarian, a grin as I headed back for the stairs.

I made it exactly five steps before I heard the scream.

I turned back towards the stacks. That definitely wasn't a kid's scream that I heard; it sounded like a fully-grown woman. I looked towards Susan, who shot me a worried glance.

"On it," I said simply. I started walking over towards nonfiction, where the scream was coming from. As I got closer, I slipped my hand into my pocket and grabbed the butt of my Kel-Tec PF-9. Technically, we weren't supposed to have any weapons in the library at all, but the rule wasn't written down anywhere and either way, it's called concealed carry for a reason.

The woman screamed again, and I started jogging towards the travel section. I turned the corner, and stopped dead in my tracks. A young man, really not much older than me, had an older woman pinned up against the stacks, his lips firmly pressed against her neck. She wasn't returning his affections; in fact, she looked downright terrified.

"Hey!" I said loudly (I still couldn't make myself shout in a library), "Get off of her!" The man ignored me. "I said let her go!" I said again. He ignored me again, instead pressing his face harder against her neck. She started screaming even louder, and then something squirted onto the stack across from them. It looked like… blood? Holy shit!

I leapt onto the man's back, wrapping my arms around his neck and hauling backwards with all my strength. His grip on her slackened with surprise, and I pulled him to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the woman collapse against the stacks. Blood was oozing from her neck, but there was no arterial spay, so I figured she would be all right for the moment.

"Stop fighting!" I shouted at the man, who was furiously trying to squirm out of my grip. I felt his hand clamp around my wrist, and then the next thing I knew I was laying flat on my back halfway down the stacks, my head suddenly spinning. What the hell? He'd just thrown me a good ten feet! I rolled over and got to my knees.

"Okay," I said, "playtime's over. You're going…" my words suddenly caught in my throat as I saw the man's face for the first time. Blood was smeared across his mouth, cheeks, and chin, like he'd beep pigging out at a barbecue. His teeth, especially his incisors, were unnaturally long and pointed. Most disturbing were his eyes; they were completely red; no iris, no pupil, just bright, blood red.

"Holy Mother of God," I said, "what the …" Then the man let out an inhuman shriek and launched himself at me.

A pair of gunshots suddenly echoed through the stacks and the man disappeared from view. I was shocked to see my Kel-Tec in my hands, smoke drifting lazily out of the barrel. To this day, I don't remember drawing or firing it. I looked down to see the man – was it a man? – laying face-down on the carpet, a puddle of blood slowly forming around his head.

"Steve!" Susan shouted, "What's happening?"

"Call 911!" I shouted at her, my voice shaky and cracking, "I just shot someone!"

"What?" she asked. "You shot…" she walked around the corner just then, her eyes going wide at the grizzly scene before her. "What happened? Where did you get that gun?"

"This guy was attacking that woman," I explained, "biting her on the neck like some kind of vampire or something. I dragged him off her, then he threw me across the room. I got up, he lunged at me, so I shot him. I thought he was gonna kill me, Susan! I think he was high on drugs or something, and there's something wrong with his teeth…"

"Oh my God," she said.

"Hey, I thought he was gonna kill me!" I said. Most people around my neighborhood hated guns with a burning passion and thought everyone who owned one was some sort of homicidal lunatic or something. "I was afraid for my life, Susan! I had no "

"No, look!" She said, pointing at the dead man. Only he wasn't dead anymore; he was slowly rising onto all fours.

"Stay down!" I shouted at him, raising the pistol again. "Stay down!" He ignored me, continuing to move into a crawling position, then into a crouch, and then to his feet. As he raised his head towards me, I screamed. I couldn't help it; the two bullet holes I'd just put in his face were gone. I mean completely healed, not a scar or anything.

With another inhuman shriek, he lunged at me. I fired again, pumping two more nine millimeter hollowpoints into his chest. He staggered backwards, like he'd been punched in the gut, but didn't fall. I started to walk backwards, firing at him again and again. The bullets seemed to slow him down a bit, but he didn't drop. In fact, he barely even bled from them; the wounds seemed to heal almost instantly. Then the pistol clicked; I was in slide lock.

"Susan," I said as the creature locked eyes with me, "RUN!" Susan needed no second bidding, racing towards the emergency exit as I dashed towards the main entrance, desperately fishing in my pocket for my spare magazine. A quick glance over my shoulder showed the man-thing gaining on me fast. I wasn't going to make it to either the door or the reload. As I ran past the new-nonfiction display, I quickly snatched up the biggest book on the shelf and slammed the creature over the head with it. He staggered back, my sudden attack apparently catching him off guard and knocking him off-balance. I dropped the book and continued to run like hell.

I found my spare magazine just as I reached the main entrance. I slammed it onto the pistol, sling-shotted the slide home, and turned around. My little stunt with the book had bought me less time than I'd thought; the creature was right on my heels. I raised the gun and double-tapped the trigger, shooting the thing point-blank in the face. Again, he dropped like a stone, but I knew that wouldn't stop him for long. I had to get to my car; had to get into the trunk. I snatched my keys from my belt, jamming my thumb against the remote-unlock button. My Honda's lights flashed twice, and from twenty feet away I faintly heard the _klack_ of the locks coming off.

From behind me, I heard the unearthly shriek again and cursed. The thing was up and moving again. I turned as I ran, firing one-handed at the creature. He (it?) staggered back as the bullets struck, but they barely seemed to slow him down. Then the little pistol went into slide-lock again, and I dropped it. I had no more reloads.

I was at the car seconds later. I jammed my key into the trunk latch and twisted it so hard that it nearly snapped. The trunk sprang open, and I reached inside for the gun case I had back there. I popped the locks, threw open the lid, and grabbed my new 12-guage Stoeger Coach Gun. Now I was in business. Or so I thought.

I turned back towards the creature just in time to find it right on top of me. I tried to raise the shotgun only to have the creature smash it out of my grip. Pain lanced up my left arm and I screamed in agony as I heard the sound of bones shattering. The thing backhanded me and sent me flying through the air. I crashed into a picnic table, demolishing it.

My head swimming, I watched in detached fascination as the creature leapt a good twenty feet in upwards, arching gracefully through the moonlit sky. About a second before it landed, I realized that it was aiming straight for me. I rolled left just before it crashed into the ground where my head had been. Then it was on me, its hands digging into my shoulders like vices as it brought its mouth towards my neck. I grabbed its chest with my right arm and pushed back against it, but it was like trying to push against a hydraulic press. I couldn't stop it.

I glanced wildly around for a weapon, but there was none in reach, or at least close enough to grab before the thing bit me. In desperation, I slammed my knee up hard into the creature's crotch. The creature's blood-red eyes went wide with shock and a painful-sounding moan escaped its lips. I stopped pushing its chest long enough to haul off with a solid right hook, catching it square in the jaw. It swatted me back to the ground. Stars exploded in my vision as my head slammed against the dirt. My hand brushed against a piece of one of the table's legs. I grabbed it and swung at the thing like a major-league hitter. Either the thing had a really hard head or else the wood was really cheap, because the table leg exploded in a shower of splinters as it smashed into the creature's temple.

The blow knocked the creature off me. I scrambled to my feet, still clutching what was left of the table leg. The creature staggered back a few steps, stunned, but recovered in seconds and sprang towards me again. Only this time I was ready for it. Just before it reached me, I shoved the broken end of the table leg into its chest.

The creature let out a horrific scream, so loud that I collapsed to the ground in mutual agony, my good hand pressed against my ear in a desperate yet futile attempt to block out the sound. Over the din, I dimly heard the sound of glass shattering. I looked over at the creature to find it on its knees, hands wrapped around my makeshift stake, trying desperately to pull it out of its body.

After a few seconds, I saw that it was succeeding.

Oh, shit.

I got to my feet and hauled ass back towards my car. I'd bought myself maybe a minute at the most, and I was gonna make the most of it. I needed to get out of there. I reached the car and started digging desperately through my pocket for my keys. They were gone. They weren't in the trunk latch either. Shit! I looked wildly around the car for them, but to no avail.

Then I heard the creature shriek again.

I looked over to see it staggering slowly towards me, still inching the stake out of its chest. It would be healed and on top of me in a matter of seconds. There was no way I could get away. I was a dead man walking.

A glimmer of metal on the pavement suddenly caught my eye. My keys! I whirled towards the sparkle, and my heart fell into my shoes. It wasn't my keys, it was just my shotgun.

My shotgun!

I snatched the weapon up and turned to face the creature. It was about five feet from me and closing. It nearly had the stake all the way free. I raised the shotgun, holding it in one hand like a monstrously-oversized pistol, and shoved both barrels into the creature's open mouth.

"Suck on this, asshole!" I screamed, and then stroked the gun's twin triggers, discharging both barrels of double-aught buckshot down the creature's throat.

The next thing I knew, my ears were ringing something terrible, the creature was gone, and I was splattered with blood and gore. I staggered backwards, not quite comprehending what had just happened. The thing, or what was left of it, was lying on its stomach, a pool of blood pouring from the place where the head was supposed to be. I looked around stupidly for a minute, trying to find the thing's head. It took a second for me to figure out that its head was all over my face.

_EEEWWWWWW!_

I dropped the shotgun and furiously wiped the blood and – was that brain matter? – off of me. Then I bent over and puked my dinner all over the pavement.

I slowly became aware of the sound of sirens behind me. I turned around towards the parking lot entrance and almost fell over. My head was spinning faster than out-of-control merry-go-round. A pair of police Crown Victorias had pulled into the parking lot. The officers were out of their cars, crouched behind the open doors, aiming their pistols at me. They were shouting something at me, too.

"I'm okay," I said, dimly aware that my ulna was poking out from my left forearm. That was kinda cool, but wasn't it supposed to stay inside? And why was the end all pointy? Ah, whatever. "I've just got a bone sticking out of my arm," I told the cops. I turned and pointed towards the now-headless creature. "Him… ah… not so much. Hey, are those Glocks?"

Then I passed out.


	2. Chapter 2: An Unfriendly Chat

I felt like I was buried under a pile of warm blankets. My mind seemed as if it was smothered in cobwebs. Gradually, I became aware of a bitter taste in my mouth and a disgusting, sticky substance clinging to my lips. It took quite a few hard moments of disinterested concentration for me to figure out what was going on. I'd been in a fight with… a vampire? Yeah, I'd fought a vampire. Must've won too, because I didn't feel like a vampire. That's what happens when you get bit by a vampire: you turn into one. Right? Or else you die. But then again, I didn't know what being a vampire felt like. Or being dead. So how was I to know if I was still alive, dead, or a vampire?

I gave up trying to figure that one out after a few minutes, moving instead to a more important question: where was I? I slowly, ever so slowly, forced my eyes open. The world around me was a fuzzy, blurry mess. It took another few minutes (hours?) of lazy concentration to finally get things into focus.

I was in a room, lying in some sort of bed. There was a device next to my right shoulder displaying some sort of readout that looked like a bunch of squiggly lines. There were wires coming out of the machine which seemed to lead under the blankets. Yeah, that made sense; I could feel a bunch of sticky things on my chest and something else clamped to my right pinky.

So, again, where was I, and why did this all seem so familiar? Was I… was I in a hospital? At that moment, a nurse entered the room.

"Ah, good, you're awake," she said upon seeing me. Without further ado, she wheeled a cart bearing some sort of medical device into the room, pulled two long pointy rods from the device and shoved them into my mouth. She glanced at the readout for a minute until the device beeped, removed the probes from under my tongue, and wheeled the device out of the room.

Yeah, I was in a hospital. Again.

Shit.

That must be why I felt so out of it. Anesthesia always does a number on me. Well, at least I hadn't thrown up. Yet, anyway. A wave of massive fatigue suddenly hit me, and I fell back into a deep (and still drug-induced) sleep.

When I awoke, which must have been a few hours later, the first thing I noticed that my head felt much clearer. The second thing I noticed was that my left arm was wrapped in a cast from my wrist all the way up to my shoulder. The _third_ thing I noticed was that there was a pair of men standing next to my bed. The nearest one looked like a carbon copy of Hugo Weaving from _The Matrix_, while his partner could've passed for a younger, shorter Clint Eastwood, only with black hair.They were both wearing off-the-rack suits, and the Eastwood look-alike had a rather large pistol printing from under his jacket. Each had "Federal Agent" written all over him.

"Good, you're finally awake," the Weaving clone said.

"Who are you?" I asked. Or at least, tried to ask. My mouth was bone-dry and my tongue was plastered to my teeth, so the sound that emerged from between my cracked lips was closer to "Swhuryewsh?"

"Water, Mister Cooper?" The second agent asked. I nodded. He moved past his partner, picked a clear plastic cup from the nightstand next to my head, and held it up to my lips. It was only tap water, but right then it was the best thing I'd ever tasted. Too soon, he pulled the cup away.

"Thanks," I said, "So, who are you guys?"

"Do you know what happened to you?" the first agent asked me, ignoring my question.

"I… ah…" I got the feeling that if I told these guys I'd been in a fight with a vampire (I was now firmly convinced that's what it had been) they'd have packed me up and shipped me off to a funny farm. "I got into a fight with a crackhead." I said.

"Try again, Mister Cooper," the first agent said. "Two days ago, you were involved in an altercation with an undead entity, in this case a vampire, at the Tredyffrin Public Library."

"Uh, you said that, not me," I said quickly, "Don't be putting words in my mouth."

"By some miracle," the agent continued, again ignoring me, "you were able to dispatch the creature, first by stabbing it with a wooden stake and then by decapitating it with a shotgun."

"Yeah, that's right," I said cautiously, "So…are you saying that it really was a vampire, then?"

"Yes, Mister Cooper, it was a vampire."

"Bullshit. Everyone knows vampires aren't real."

"I assure you, Mister Cooper, vampires are indeed real," the second agent chimed it "As are lycanthropes, zombies, orcs, elves, ghouls, wights, chupacabra, sasquatch, yeti "

"That's enough," the first agent barked at his partner, silencing him with a glare.

"Woah, woah, woah, stop for a second," I said, waving my hands (or at least the one that wasn't in a cast) to shush him. "You guys are serious?" The agent nodded. "Monsters are real? As in, really real?"

"They are," the first agent said with a nod. I just stared at them, jaw agape, for a minute.

"Who the hell are you guys?" I finally asked.

"I'm Agent Willard," the first agent said, "This is my partner, Agent Simpkin."

"Who are you guys?" I asked again, "FBI? CIA? NSA?"

"MCB," Willard replied.

"MCB?" I repeated, "What's that stand for, 'Monster Control Bureau' or something?"

"Or something," Willard said in a rather poor imitation of me.

"So… what do you guys want with me?" I asked. Neither Willard nor Simpkin answered. Instead, Willard reached inside his jacket. I sat straight up in bed, panicked, sure he was going for his pistol.

"Wait, no " I started. Willard's hand emerged back into view. It was holding a newspaper. Willard tossed it into my lap, and I picked it up with my good hand.

"Local Man Slays Serial Killer," I read the headline aloud before shooting a questioning glance at the two Feds.

"As far as the public knows, you killed, in self-defense, a serial killer who was high on PCP," Willard explained, "That's how it's going to stay."

"You mean, I can't tell anyone that it really was a vampire?" I asked, "Why?"

"You will be in violation of the Unearthly Forces Disclosure Act, and prosecuted accordingly."

"Prosecuted how?" I asked, "Like, will I wind up in Gitmo or something if I talk?"

"No," Willard said.

"Then… what?"

Willard reached back inside his jacket again, and I swear he grinned a little bit as he did so. When he withdrew his hand this time, it was holding a Glock. He snapped the gun up and leveled it at my forehead, his finger touching the trigger.

"So," I said, trying (and failing) to keep my voice from cracking, "I talk, I die from acute lead poisoning." Simpkin snorted when I said that. Willard glared at him.

"Exactly," Willard said.

"So… ah… why tell me?"

"Standard operating procedure," Willard said simply. I raised my eyebrows at the two of them.

"Hey, I don't get it either," Simpkin said, earning him another glare from his partner.

"Okay…" I said slowly, "So, ah, since I really don't want to die, I'll stick to the serial killer story."

"Good," Willard said. He sounded almost disappointed as he slowly holstered his pistol.

"So… you guys need me for anything else?" Simpkin shook his head, Willard just stood there. "Well, uh, if that's all, and if you guys don't mind, I think I'm gonna go back to sleep."

"Fine," Willard said. He turned to leave, and Simpkin moved to follow him.

"Get better," Simpkin said as he headed out the door. Somehow, I knew that Willard started glaring at him again.

Once they were gone, I lay back against my pillow. Even with the drugs still lingering in my system, sleep eluded me. I was still having a hard time processing it: monsters, all the creatures from ancient myth and children's nightmares, were real. They were real, and I couldn't tell anyone, because if I did, Agent Willard of the Monster Control Bureau would come back and shoot me in the face. Somehow, I knew he would probably enjoy that.


	3. Chapter 3: Surprise Visitors

MHI: Northeast

Chapter 3: Surprise Visitors

It turned out that, in addition to a broken left arm, the vampire had left me with a dislocated collarbone, dislocated shoulder, four cracked ribs, and a badly sprained ankle. I figured most of those were caused either by him swatting me across the parking lot or me landing on the picnic table. As if that wasn't enough, it turned out that my left arm had already been broken some years before and never been properly diagnosed (something I'd long suspected but could never get confirmed), and the new break had really screwed things up, so they'd had to do surgery on it to repair the damage. Fortunately, the doctors said that I would retain full use of both my arm and hand.

I spent what had to be the second-worst week of my life in that damn hospital bed. I'd hated hospitals before, and that week did nothing to alleviate those feelings. Basically, I spent a week laying in bed, hooked up to all sorts of loudly beeping machines, with needles stuck in both arms, eating really, _really _bad food, and being "cared" for by rude and apathetic doctors and nurses. Okay, that last one really isn't fair; two of the nurses were really nice (and one was pretty cute), and it turned out that my surgeon was a gun nut too. Guy even promised to let me shoot his M1 Garand once my arm and shoulders healed up.

Aside from that, though, it was a horrible week. Boring as hell. Sure, some of my friends visited, and my mom did bring my laptop so I could work on my novel (which I'd been writing for, I kid you not, five years at that point), but my friends all had to leave eventually and since I only had one working hand, I couldn't really write much. To sum it up, when the nurse finally wheeled me out of the hospital, it felt like the happiest day of my life.

Even then, I still had pretty much nothing to do. I had to take a leave of absence from my job, since a technical writer needs to be able to type quickly, and like I said, that's near impossible to do that with one hand. Given the state of our company, I knew that still having my desk in six weeks would be a long shot. Even though I was the best technical writer they had (something my boss regularly praised me as), I was still pretty low down on the totem pole. Okay, who was I kidding, I was pretty much at the bottom. So, in a nutshell, all I had to do for the better part of two months was sit around my apartment, read, write (or attempt to), and watch movies. That got old pretty quickly.

Fortunately, the police and DA decided that the "incident" had been a clear-cut case of self-defense and declined to file charges against me. They even returned my Kel-Tec and Stoeger once they finished processing them. Not that I could get out to the range much, mind you. Also, the woman the vampire had attacked lived through her ordeal, though she'd be stuck in the hospital for quite a while. I'd no doubt that Willard and Simpkin would pay her a visit soon, if they hand't already. I just hoped that she didn't develop a case of acute lead poisoning while they were there.

Anyway, after four weeks, the big cast came off my arm, only to be replaced by a second. Fortunately, this one was a lot smaller; it only went from just behind my fingers to just past my elbow, rather than all the way up my arm. Still didn't have enough use of the hand to type, though, which sucked.

There was a serious upshot to all this, though; my mother all but moved into my apartment for the first few weeks. No, I'm not a momma's boy, not by any stretch. Hell, by the time she finally moved out, I think we were just about ready to kill each other. No, the upshot was that for the first time in years, my mother cooked three full meals a day for me, seven days a week. My mother is, in my humble opinion, one of the best cooks on the planet. Three meals a day of her cooking was, for me, almost heaven on earth. Sadly (or fortunately, depending on how your point of view), Mom stopped coming by after the little cast put on, and I was left to fend for myself. And no, before you ask, I didn't inherit any of her cooking abilities.

The Wednesday after Mom left, I was watching an episode of _Top Gear_ on iTunes when my doorbell rang. I clicked pause, freezing Jeremy Clarkson's Ford Fiesta midway down the ramp of the Royal Marines' landing craft, and headed for the door. I hoped it wasn't more reporters. I'd been chasing them away ever since I got out of the hospital. Reporters and crazy anti-gun types who kept threatening me for "murdering that poor, misunderstood young man." Yes, someone actually said that to me.

"Who is it?" I called through the door.

"Steve?" a voice on the other side asked, "Steve Cooper?" Somehow, the voice sounded familiar.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

"Uh, it's me, Jon. Jon Callahan. I don't know if you remember me…"

"Wait, Jon? Is that really you?" I said, and looked through the peephole. He had a beard now, and his hair was longer than I remembered, but it was definitely the guy I'd gone to high school with. "Holy crap, man!" I exclaimed, "Hang on a second, I'll let you in." I fumbled with the deadbolt for a second before finally getting it unlocked and then pulled the door open. With the exception of the beard and now-scraggily hair, Jonathan Callahan looked exactly like I remembered him; big and bearish, he was at least six-foot-five and two-hundred-seventy pounds. He was wearing the same type of clothes I remembered him wearing in high school; cargo pants, T-shirt, and field jacket, though they weren't the urban camo pattern that had been his trademark years ago, and a pair of rimless glasses.

"Jeez, man!" I exclaimed, "It's great to see you! Come on in!"

"Thanks, Steve," he said, ducking slightly under the doorframe.

"My God, it's been, what? Six, seven years now?"

"Something like that," Jon agreed with a nod, then he turned and looked back through the door. Following his gaze, I noticed for the first time that he wasn't alone. His companion was an attractive African-American woman, about five-foot-seven, maybe in her early 40s, wearing slacks and a sport coat.

"Oh, right, Steve, this is Dominique Turner," Jon said.

"Ms. Turner," I said, extending my hand to her, "Very nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she replied, taking my hand and shaking it firmly. I was surprised, both by the strength of her grip and the worn calluses that I felt on her hands.

"Uh, please come in, have a seat," I said, gesturing towards my garage-sale sofa, easy chair, and coffee table. "Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Coke? Sprite?"

"Bourbon, if you have it," Turner replied.

"Sorry," I said, "No alcohol in the house. Bothers my stomach." That was true, but it wasn't the real reason I didn't keep any booze lying around.

"Oh, okay," she said, "I'll have a Coke then."

"Okay," I said, "You like Sprite, right Jon?"

"Uh huh."

"Ice?" They both nodded. "Okay, back in a minute," I headed into the apartment's small kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a glass each of Coca-Cola and Sprite.

"So, Jon," I asked as the three of us sat down, me on the love seat and the two of them on the sofa, "where the hell have you been all these years? You just dropped completely off the radar a year after graduation."

"It's kind of a long story," Jon said, "And I'm really sorry, Steve, but I'm not here for a social visit. We're here for business."

"Business? What do you mean 'business'?"

"It's about the incident you had at the library a few weeks ago," Turner explained.

"What about it?" I said slowly.

"We know it wasn't really a serial killer from Chicago like the papers say," she continued. "We know it was a vampire you killed, not some addict."

"No," I said, "the guy was high on PCP. I know he tried to tear that woman's throat out…"

"Let me guess," she interrupted, "Two Feds in cheap suits visited you in the hospital, threatened to blow your brains out if you told anyone anything other than the official story they cooked up? Their names were Willard and Simpkin, right?"

"You know them?" I blurted out, then caught myself. Too late. I'd let it slip. I was toast.

"Yeah," Jon said, "Simpkin's okay, but Willard's a real pain in the ass."

"He's a real prick," Turner agreed.

"Yeah," I said slowly, "So… you guys know about the vampire." Jon nodded. "So what do you want with me?" Jon looked over at Ms. Turner.

"Mister Cooper…" she started.

"Steve," I said, "If you're friends with Jon, you can call me Steve."

"Steve, then," she said with a slight grin. "Steve, we work for a company called Monster Hunter International. MHI is the premier monster hunting corporation in the world. We're for-profit, totally privately-funded and we handle monster problems all over the globe."

"Wait, I'm sorry," I said, "Monster Hunter International? You mean you guys…"

"Hunt monsters?" Jon finished, "Yeah, that's pretty much it. That's what we do."

"Jon, you're a… a monster hunter?" I asked, not quite believing it. He nodded. "Since when?"

"Remember I dropped off the radar the year after we got out of high school? Well, I was visiting my dad out in California. We were out in the desert east of Pasadena when we were attacked by a Chupacabra."

"Chupacabra?" I asked. I'd never really gotten into fantasy books, so I knew pretty much jack squat about monsters.

"Reptile, 'bout three feet tall, weighs around a hundred-fifty pounds," he explained, "Goat suckers; they attack animals and completely drain their blood. Vicious little bastards, especially if they get a taste of human blood; then they won't drink anything else. Anyway, one of 'em attacked my Dad and me."

"Dear God, is your dad okay?" I'd only met the man once, at our high-school graduation, but he seemed like a real nice guy.

"Oh, yeah," Joe said. We were heading back from my dad's range when the thing jumped our car. We had a bunch of guns and ammo in the back seat. Turned the bugger into Swiss cheese." Somehow, this didn't surprise me; Jon was one of the few people I knew who was a bigger gun nut than me (and that's saying something), and his entire family was the same way.

"Anyway, the Feds visited us the next day, told us to keep our mouths shut or else. A month later, some people from MHI came to us and offered us a job. We both jumped on it."

"And you've been running around killing monsters for the last six years or so?"

"Pretty much," Jon said.

"So… what do you want with me?" I asked. Jon and Ms. Turner looked at each other.

"I thought you said he was quick," Turner said. Jon just shrugged.

"You want me to work for MHI?" I asked, the lightbulb finally clicking on.

"Yeah, pretty much," Jon said.

"Ah… wow," I said, slouching back into the love seat. "Look, ah, Miss Turner…"

"Dominique," she said, "Every time someone calls me Miss Turner, I have to stop myself from looking around for my mother."

"Sorry, Dominique," I said quickly, "Look, ah, guys, I appreciate your offer, but I really don't think I'm cut out to be a monster hunter. I mean, well, look at me." It was true; I was five-foot-eleven and had weighed one-hundred-twenty pounds since, well, forever. I was, in a word, the stereotypical skinny white guy.

"I don't think so, Steve," Dominique continued, "I think you're just the kind of person we need."

"I doubt it," I insisted. "I tried to enlist right out of high school, and was turned down by every single branch. Hell, I was even turned down by the Coast Guard!"

"That won't be an issue," Dominique replied. "We're not looking for the toughest, biggest, baddest mofos out there. What we're looking for, Steve, are flexible minds."

"Flexible minds?" I asked.

"Flexible minds," she repeated. "You were confronted by a creature that is literally something out of mankind's worst nightmare. Most people, when they see something like that, either freeze up and get killed or have a complete mental breakdown. They usually get killed too. But you, you didn't freeze. You reacted. You fought back."

"And got my ass kicked," I pointed out, indicating my cast.

"That's not a surprise," Dominique said, "What is a surprise is that you were able to single-handedly kill a vampire, which is probably the toughest undead creature there is. Which reminds me, this is yours." She reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out an unmarked envelope, and handed it to me.

"Uh, thank you," I said, hesitantly accepting the envelope. It was sealed, and I struggled to get it open for a minute. Stupid hand in a stupid cast.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "let me get that." She took the envelope back, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a folding pocketknife, flicked it open, and slit the side of the envelope open in one smooth motion. As her coat flashed open, I was surprised to see a pistol, which I immediately recognized as a Heckler & Koch HK45, in a holster on her right hip. A quick glance revealed that Jon too had a pistol on his hip too, which I was thoroughly unsurprised to see was a 1911. He'd been obsessed with Browning's design for as long as I could remember. The fact that his boss was carrying an H&K was probably driving him nuts.

"Thanks," I said, pulling out the contents of the envelope. It was, I was surprised to find, a check. Even more surprising, it was from the United States Government – something called PUFF, whatever that was – and it was worth…

"Five Hundred Thousand Dollars?" I stammered. "Wha… Wha… Wha…"

"Woah there, Steve," Jon said. "Breathe, just breathe,"

"That's your PUFF Bounty," Dominique explained. "Perpetual Unearthly Forces Fund, set up by Teddy Roosevelt back in 1902. Basically, it's a fund that the government uses to pay people who kill monsters."

"Five hundred thousand dollars," I repeated.

"Yeah, but that's just because it was relatively young, only a few months, near as we can tell," Joe explained. "Half a million's actually about as low as it gets for a vamp. If it had been older, drank more blood, it could have been worth millions."

"PUFF bounties are MHI's main source of funding," Dominique explained. "Of course, since value the bounty is for the individual monster, that means each one is split up between everyone in the company. The team that kills said monster gets the biggest share."

"It sounds kinda lousy, I know, but believe me, your first paycheck will still probably be more than you make in a year," Jon said.

"Five hundred thousand dollars," I repeated, still not believing my (literal) good fortune.

"Hey, Steve, you okay?" Jon asked. He waved his hand in front of my face, and I flinched.

"Huh? Sorry?"

"Did you hear what we just said?" he asked.

"Yeah, uh, Teddy Roosevelt set up a fund to kill monsters, you guys split the bounties up in your company, you make a lot of money…?"

"Yeah, pretty much," he said.

"And you want me to join up with your company?" I asked.

"We do," Dominique said with a firm nod.

"Uh… okay… assuming I say yes, I take it there's a training program of some sort? I mean, I know I killed the vampire and all, but I really just got lucky last time."

"Oh there is," Jon said, "Don't worry about that." Something in his voice, the way he said that, made me a little nervous.

"Okay… uh… would I need to bring my own guns?"

"You can bring your own if you want, but we've got a pretty decent armory of our own," Dominique said.

"Yeah," Jon said absently, his eyes suddenly getting a far-away, dreamy look. Dominique just rolled her eyes.

"You guys have any specific weapons or calibers that you require?" I asked.

"Forty-five ACP for handguns and subguns, three-oh-eight Winchester for rifles, and twelve-gauge for shotguns," Jon said, snapping out of his daydream. "Aside from that, it's pretty much up to you."

"Why not two-two-three Remington?" I asked. "Nothing against those rounds, but I've already got an AR-15." It was a Crusader Arms Partisan that I really hadn't been able to afford but had bought anyway. I loved that rifle.

"Because the company that makes our special ammunition only makes rounds in forty-five and three-oh-eight," Dominique explained, "though we're in talks with them to start producing other calibers. Hopefully they'll have a two-twenty-three round cooked up for us by the end of the year."

"What do you mean by 'special ammunition'?"

"You know the Cor-Bon Pow'RBall, right?" Jon asked. I nodded. It's"The rounds we use are basically like those, only instead of a polymer ball in the hollowpoint, ours has a silver one."

"For werewolves, right?" I asked.

"Actually, a lot of undead creatures don't like silver very much," Dominique explained, "Don't ask me why; truth is that no one really knows."

"Okay," I said, nodding only because I really didn't know what else to do.

"So, are you interested?" Dominique asked. I didn't answer. I couldn't, at least not honestly. The truth was, part of me really did want to take their offer, but at the same time, the rational part of my brain was screaming that it was crazy, that even if it was true, I was almost guaranteed to get myself killed if I said yes.

"Okay, look," Joe said after a minute. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. "Think it over. When you're healed up, if you want to give it a shot, give this number a call. Ask for Earl Harbinger, tell him who you are, and tell him we talked to you. All right?"

"Okay, I said, taking the card and pocketing it.

"Thanks," he said, "And now I'm afraid that we gotta get going." The three of us rose up, and Joe and I shook hands.

"Great seeing you again, Jon," I said.

"Yeah, same here," he replied.

Ms. Tur- ah, sorry, Dominique," I said, shaking her hand too, "Again, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Steve." I ushered them both out the door, locked the deadbolt, then went back to the love seat, sat down, and looked at the business card. There was a picture of a green smiley face with horns on the front, along with the words "_Monster Hunter International. Got Monster Problems? Call the Professionals. Established 1895_," as well as a phone number. I sat there, staring at that card, for what must've been hours.

I took the check to the bank that afternoon. To my complete and utter shock, it cleared with no problem. Which was good; three days later my boss called and said that the company wouldn't be able to take me back once my leave of absence ended. So I spent the next few days just eating, sleeping, staring at the card, and thinking. Stay here, try and find a new job, go on with my life as it was, or go out and kill monsters a living, and probably not make it to my next birthday? The more I thought about my choice, the more I realized that I really didn't have much choice at all.


	4. Chapter 4: Guns Lots of Guns

Chapter 4: Guns. Lots of Guns.

As it turns out, I'd just missed the start of MHI's next Newbie Training Class, as Harbinger called it, and the next one wouldn't be for another four months. I was pretty pissed when I found that out, but I figured out pretty quick that it was really a blessing in disguise. It gave me time to prepare.

Like I'd told Jon and Dominique, I was your stereotypical Skinny White Guy. I hadn't been in decent physical shape before the Incident, and the weeks of recovery hadn't helped me much. Pretty soon after I found out I had to wait four months to start at MHI, I figured out that in the shape I was in, I'd probably lucky to survive, much less complete, whatever training it was they had in store for me; I figured it had to be at least as tough as military boot camp. So, with a couple months with nothing to do and a bloated bank account, I got to work.

Firstly, I threw myself into physical therapy, working to rebuild the muscles in my arm that had atrophied over months of disuse. Actually, I might have overdone that a bit; the doctor at my first consultation visit had to tell me to take it easy, lest I accidentally screw up my arm again. I did heed his advice, but only a little (personally, I think he just wanted to stretch out my recovery for as long as possible so I'd have to keep paying for more consultations). Once therapy ended, I moved from exercising my arm to exercising my entire body. I got a membership at the local YMCA and started working out daily, alternating between lifting weights (both machines and free weights) to build muscle mass and running on the treadmills and elliptical machines to build up my endurance.

My next step was to get back into martial arts training. I'd done Taekwondo for a few years when I was a kid, but had stopped when I was in tenth grade. I found a good dojo and started taking classes again. I had to start over as a white belt, but remembered enough that I was quickly promoted up to blue belt. I also tried to focus more on weapons training this time, particularly with bladed weapons. While I knew pretty much zilch about monsters, I did know that the only way to kill some was to decapitate them, and I'd always had an affinity for the legendary katana. After a good month of hard training, I felt proficient enough with the katana that I ordered my own, as well as a similar but smaller wakazashi, from Cold Steel. In addition to the Taekwondo, I also took some Krav Maga classes. As much respect as I have for the ancient Eastern martial arts, I also knew that they can be virtually useless in a real-world knock-down drag-out street fight, and since I really had no idea what I'd be up against, I wanted to be prepared for anything and everything.

It was probably the hardest four months of my life up to that point, but in the end it proved worth the effort and exhaustion; my weight eventually went from a pathetic hundred-twenty pounds to a much more respectable hundred-fifty.

One aspect of training that I wasn't worried about was my firearms. I was already a member of my local IDPA chapter, shot there regularly, and I'd previously taken a handgun and carbine training course with Crusader, the same guys who'd built my AR-15. Even so, while I already had a rifle and a pair of pistols, neither the Crusader, the Kel-Tec, or the SIG P6 that I used in IDPA were the proper caliber, and while the Stoeger was indeed a 12-gauge, I definitely wanted more than two shots on tap if I was facing down an angry werewolf or whatever else MHI typically went after. That wasn't much of a problem, though; even with all my training and the two swords, I still had the vast majority of my half-million dollar PUFF bounty, and I knew the perfect place to go to find guns.

It was called OnTarget Firearms, it was about a forty-minute drive from my apartment, and it was, in my humble (if biased) opinion, the best gun shop anywhere in the Tri-State Area. No sooner had I walked through the front door than there came a shout from behind the counter.

"Hey, hero! How're ya feeling?" Daniel Hampton was two years my senior and the only other person I knew, besides Jon Callahan, who was a bigger gun nut than me. We'd been copy editors for our college newspaper for a year before he graduated, hoping to start a career in law enforcement. Unfortunately, all of the police academies he'd applied to still had him waitlisted, so he'd had to make ends meet by taking a job here at OnTarget. Not that he minded it that much, of course.

"Hey Dan," I said as I walked back to the counter, "I'm doing a lot better, thanks."

"Yeah, I heard you really got your ass kicked. How many times did you have to shoot the guy?"

"You mean besides two barrels of buckshot?" He nodded. "I hit him eleven times."

"Holy shit, man!" he exclaimed, "Eleven times with a nine millimeter? You were carrying hollowpoints, right?"

"Yeah," I told him, "and you should know; they were the Hydra-Shoks you sold me."

"All COM hits?"

"Most of them," He'd never believe me if I told him four headshots hadn't dropped the 'crackhead.'

"And he still didn't go down?" Dan's entire body conveyed his absolute disbelief.

"I really don't know what to tell you, Dan," I said simply. Even if the Feds hadn't threatened to kill me, I knew Dan would probably never believe me if I told him the truth about the Incident.

"Jeez," he said, "Thank God you had that shotgun."

"Yeah, thanks for convincing me to go with the double-barrel instead of waiting 'til I could afford that autoloader."

"Hey, no problem. Now I'm really glad I did."

"Me too," I replied truthfully. I'd been hankering after a Remington 11-87 Police at the time, but that was way out of my price range (I was still hurting financially after buying the Crusader) and Dan had convinced me to go with the inexpensive Stoeger double-barrel as a stop-gap until I had enough saved up. Thank God I'd listened to him; I'd purchased the shotgun not a week before the Incident.

"So," he asked, "I'm guessing the cops confiscated the Kel-Tec and the Stoeger, so you need to replace them now, right?"

"Actually, can I see that SIG-Sauer?" I asked, indicating the .45 caliber P220 behind the counter's clear plexiglass.

"Uh, yeah, sure thing," he replied. He pulled a ring of keys off his belt, selected the proper one, and unlocked the counter. "We just got this one in," he said, placing the pistol I'd indicated atop the clear plexiglass. "It's the new Series S4 model. Has an extended barrel that's threaded to accept a suppressor, elevated night sights to clear whatever can you might put on it, and a retention lanyard."

"I'll take it," I said immediately. Dan raised his eyebrows.

"Uh, Steve, you do know that it's listed at eleven-twenty-four-ninety-five, right?"

"I'll take it," I repeated, nodding.

"But… that's more than your Partisan cost, and you couldn't really afford that," he protested.

"I'll take it," I repeated again, unable to hold back my grin.

"And didn't you just lose your job?" he asked, now thoroughly exasperated. I did blink in surprise when he said that; I'd forgotten that little tidbit had leaked onto the news.

"Yeah," I said, "I did."

"Then how are you going to be able to pay for this?" he asked, "No offense, man, I'd love to sell it to you, but shouldn't you be concerned with more important things? Like food? And paying your rent?"

"Nah, I'm good," I told him.

"I don't think so, Steve," he said. He picked up the pistol and moved to put it back under the counter. I grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"Okay, look," I said, "That guy I killed, he was wanted out of Chicago, remember?"

"Yeah, so? What's that got to do with it?"

"Well, it turns out that he killed the daughter of a rich politician out there. The guy put up a reward for his capture, dead or alive."

"Reward?" Dan asked, "How much?" I leaned in close to his ear before answering.

"Five hundred thousand bucks," I whispered. The pistol clattered to the counter as Dan shot bolt upright like he'd just been hit by lightning.

"Are you shitting me?" He exclaimed, "Half a million bucks?!"

"SHHHH!" I frantically gestured for him to be quiet. There were other people in the store after all, and I really didn't want to broadcast my newfound wealth. "Yes," I answered quietly, "Half a million bucks. Seriously. For real. Honest to God."

"So let me get this straight," he said, "You get five hundred-k from some wealthy politician or another out in Chicago, and your fist thought is to blow it all on guns?"

"Well, not all of it…" I started to explain, but Dan cut me off.

"All right, Steve!" he exclaimed, reaching across the counter and clapping me on the shoulder. "Stickin' it to those anti-gun creeps! I like it! So," he said, "SIG-Sauer P220 S4, check. You want anything else?"

"Well, I could use a good home defense shotgun," I replied.

"You've already got the Stoeger," he pointed out, "you sure you need another one?" I snorted.

"Yeah, right, so speaks the man that owns not one, not two, not three, but _four_ Mosin-Nagants."

"Touché," he replied, "So, you still looking at an autoloader? We don't have that 11-87 anymore, but we've got a few Benellis in. Those are real good guns."

"That they are, but I'm more in the mood for a pump gun right now," I replied. I scanned the racks behind the counter for a moment before spotting something that caught my eye. "How about that Mossberg?" I asked, pointing at the shotgun in question. Dan obligingly pulled it down and put it down next to the SIG.

"This is the 590A1 SPX," he said, "holds seven three-inch shells in the magazine, plus one in the chamber, ghost-ring sights, but it also has a rail on the receiver so you can mount optics if you want. The barrel's ported too."

"And it comes with that bayonet too, right?" indicating the seven inch blade affixed under the end of the magazine tube.

"Damn straight," he said, "this is the kind of gun that gives the Brady Bunch nightmares."

"Oh, yeah," I agreed, "I'll take it."

"Great," he said, "Anything else?"

"Yeah," I said, "How about a good battle rifle?"

"Three-oh-eight?" he asked. I nodded. "Any particular preference as to what? We've got AR-10s, M14s, FALs…" he paused suddenly, lapsing deep into thought. "You like FALs, right?"

"That's right." I'd had the opportunity to shoot both the FAL and a Springfield M1A right after I'd graduated from college and had fallen in love with the FAL at first shot. Dan smiled thoughtfully.

"I think I've got something in the back that you'll love," he said, "wait here a minute." With that, He disappeared in the back room for a few moments. When he returned, I could feel my jaw hit the floor.

"Okay," he said, laying the rifle almost reverently on the counter, "This is a FAL, obviously. It's a full custom build off of a DSA receiver. It's got an eighteen-inch Badger Ordnance barrel fitted with a Smith Enterprise muzzle break to tame the recoil, full-length railed handguard with a Surefire M900 light, folding stock by ACE custom, and a Trijicon one-to-four power Accupoint scope. SAW-style pistol grip, enlarged safety switch and bolt release, custom trigger job, and of course the whole thing's finished in DuraCoat; Flat Dark Earth on the furniture and accessories and their Gray Wolf color on everything else." I was speechless; if my new Mossberg gave the anti-gun crowd nightmares, than this thing would make them wake up screaming after they'd just wet their beds in sheer terror.

"It's beautiful," I said at last, "How much?"

"Well," Dan said, thinking it over for a minute, "With all the accessories, I can give it you for forty-five hundred." Now it was my eyebrows that shot skyward.

"Four and a half grand for all this?" I asked, unable to hide my disbelief. "Dan, the rifle alone has to be worth at least six thousand. Throw in the accessories and the DuraCoat job, and it's got to cost at least seven, eight grand!"

"Yeah, except it's used."

"What? What do you mean, 'used'?"

"Well," he explained, "Like I said, it was a full custom build. The guy who bought it waited almost a year for it to be built and shipped, and then proceeded to run exactly one magazine through it before he decided to try and return it."

"That fast?" I asked, suddenly worried, "What's wrong with it."

"Nothing," Dan said, "Guy told me that the recoil was way too much for him, so he didn't want it anymore."

"He couldn't handle the recoil?" I couldn't believe it. "A three-oh-eight running a Smith Enterprise muzzle break?"

"Yeah, and he ran a real light load through it too," Dan said, "Hundred-and-ten grain Hornady XTPs, if I remember correctly."

"What a wuss!"

"Yeah, tell me about it. So, you want it?"

"Oh hell yes!" I said.

"Great," Dan said. "So, you got your SIG 220, the Mossberg, and the FAL. You want anything else while you're here?"

"Phased plasma rifle in the forty-watt range?"

"Oh, yeah right," Dan snorted as we both started laughing. That was one of the few movies that we both liked.

"Okay, okay, seriously," I said, "Can I get a Magpul CTR, an Aimpoint, and a Surefire for my Partisan?"

"Sure, Dan replied, still chuckling, "let me get them out for you."

"And can I get some mags for the rifles and SIG? Figure a dozen each for the rifles, and maybe eight for the SIG, if you have that many."

"Sure, we've got plenty. PMags for the Partisan, right?"

"Of course. Oh, and I'm gonna need ammo for everything, too."

"No problem," he assured me, "How much do you want?"

"How much do you have?" I asked, grinning wickedly.


	5. Chapter 5: Welcome to MHI

Chapter 5: Welcome to MHI

I almost sighed with relief as I passed the road sign that read _Cazador, Alabama. Population 686_. I'd been driving for the past two days, scared to death that I was going to, for whatever reason, get pulled over by a cop and then be forced to explain the arsenal I had in the bed in the back of the lightly-used F150 which I'd bought with even more of the PUFF money. In addition to the SIG, the Mossberg, and the FAL, I'd also bought a second SIG 220 – this one a Railed Compact model – as a backup piece, as well as a Springfield Armory Mil-Spec M1911A1 and a Fulton Armory-made M1 Garand just for the heck of it. I'd also brought along my SIG P6, Kel-Tec, Stoeger, and Crusader Partisan, so all told, I had nearly a dozen weapons in the back of my truck, along with several thousand rounds of ammunition. Try explaining all that to a cop.

As I drove through the town of Cazador, I thought to myself for the umpteenth time since making the call, _what the hell have I gotten myself into?_ The town was more like a village, and even that was being generous. The place's main attraction appeared to be – get this – a catfish factory, which you could apparently tour of you so desired. I just rolled my eyes when I saw that sign and kept on driving.

The directions that Harbinger had given me when I'd called months earlier eventually put me on a narrow, barely paved road that twisted through the ever-deepening woods. Thank God my truck had four-wheel drive. Eventually, a thick metal gate appeared in the road ahead of me, bordered on both sides by a very high – I'd wager thirty feet – chain link fence which was topped with coils of very nasty-looking razor wire. There was a small circular sign on the gate with a horned smiley face and the letters _MHI _in faded green paint. A small shack sat just outside the perimeter, and as I pulled up next to it, a surprisingly young woman emerged from inside it. She was wearing a white tank top that stretched against her obviously-enhanced (though still undeniably attractive) chest and tight fitting jean shorts that showed off the rest of her ample figure. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a braided ponytail, and her eyes were hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses. What grabbed my attention most, however, wasn't her body; it was the 7.62mm Galil assault rifle that she casually unslung from her shoulder as she approached my truck.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," I replied, my eyes not leaving her rifle, "Is this, uh, Monster Hunter International?"

"Yeah, that's us," she said with a nod. "You're here for the Newbie course, right?"

"Yeah, uh, I mean yes, ma'am, I am," I said. She laughed.

"'Yes, ma'am,'" she said to herself, still chuckling, then to me. "Trust me, I'm no 'ma'am.' Name's Holly. Holly Newcastle."

"Pleased to meet you," I said courteously, "I'm Steve Cooper." Her smile abruptly vanished, her still-hidden eyes locking on mine, her hands tightened around the Galil. For a heart-stopping second, I thought she was going to turn me into Swiss cheese.

"You're the guy from Philadelphia that blew that vampire's head off with a shotgun." She said, her voice suddenly tight and icy.

"Uh, yeah," I slowly replied. "That would be me." I slowly inched my hand towards the backpack in the passenger seat next to me; Alabama didn't honor my Pennsylvania CCW Permit, so I'd stowed my SIG in there. But I knew that I'd never even get the zipper open if Miss Holly Newcastle decided to pump me full of lead. Abruptly, she lowered her rifle and extended her hand towards the truck's open window.

"I hate vampires," she said, "Good job."

"Uh, thanks," I said, hesitantly shaking her hand, "I… I'm guessing you had a run-in with them too, right?"

"Yeah," she said, "you could say that." Just as quickly as it had vanished, her smile suddenly reappeared. "Well, anyway, I'll get the gate open for you. Just keep driving until you reach the main compound, then park in front of the main building. Welcome to MHI."

"Thanks, Miss Newcastle." I replied. _What the hell have I gotten myself into? _She laughed again and headed back into the guard shack. A minute later, the gate was open and I continued my drive into the compound. I reached what I assumed to be the main building a few minutes later, parking just to the right of the entrance. Grabbing the backpack from the passenger seat, I climbed out and headed inside. The building was certainly a foreboding structure, with obviously thick brick and concrete wall and thin slits for windows, all of which were covered with iron bars and… was that a portcullis I spotted as I walked through the double doors. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the building's small lobby appeared relatively normal – I'd been half- expecting armed guards ready to rock and roll with Ma Deuces. Instead, I found myself in a standard waiting room, with a handful of cheap chairs sitting off to one side and a massive desk on the other, with a seemingly-normal grandmotherly-looking elderly woman sitting behind it. She reminded me a lot of Betty White from _The Golden Girls_, except, of course, for the big Ruger revolver sitting in front of her on the desk, the chambers of which she was methodically cleaning out with a bore brush. _What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

"Uh, hi," I said as I slowly as I approached her desk, "My name's Steve Cooper, I'm here for the, uh, Newbie Training Course."

"Hmph?" she grunted, obviously upset that I'd interrupted her. She studied my face for a moment before speaking. "Oh, you're the young feller who put the shotgun down the vampire's throat. Don't think I've ever heard of anyone takin' a vamp out that way before. That was some clever thinkin' ya did back there."

"Uh, thank you, Miss…"

"My name's Dorcas," she replied.

"Dorcas?" I thought I'd heard her wrong

"Think that's funny, do ya boy?" she asked, an angry light entering her eyes.

"Uh, no, no ma'am," I stammered, "Not at all."

"I'll have ya know that my ma said it's a right Biblical name, an' if y'all makin' fun of it, I'll stick my plastic foot up your ass so far ya'll choke on it. Clear?" she said, tapping her right leg for emphasis. It made a hollow _thunk_ when struck.

"Uh, yeah, sure, no problem Miss Dorcas," I stammered quickly.

"Good," Dorcas replied, seemingly satisfied. "Anywho, you're still mite early, but you can head back to the cafeteria. That's where the rest of the Newbies are. Now git, I got work to do," she barked, turning back to cleaning her Ruger.

"Thank you, Miss Dorcas, pleasure meeting you," I said, then scampered down the hallway next to her desk before she could either yell at me again or get that big revolver loaded. _What the hell have I gotten myself into?_

I found the cafeteria easy enough; it was behind a set of big double doors. The wall to one side of the doors was lined with dozens of small silver plaques. Some of the plaques had pictures, all had a name, date of birth, and date of death. Fallen Hunters, I realized quickly. The dates stretched all the way back to the 1890s, with the biggest number falling around December, 1995. Surprisingly, there was a break of a few years after that date, then a bunch of new ones in the early 2000's. At the top of the wall, I spotted a big sign that read _Sic Transit Gloria Mundi_."The Glory of the World is Fleeting," if I remembered my Tolstoy correctly. God, how I'd hated that book.

There were a surprising number of people in the cafeteria. They seemed to run the gambit age-wise between just out of school, like me, all the way up to the forties or fifties. Pretty much every race and ethnicity on the books was represented. A handful of people had clustered into groups and were chatting, but most were sitting by themselves. Since I'm not normally the social type, I took the latter option; finding a chair near the back of the room and pulling a well-worn paperback from my backpack. I'd already read the book at least a half-dozen times, but it was still just as good as when I'd first bought it. Besides, it didn't look like the orientation, or whatever it was, was going to start for a while. Before long, I was completely absorbed in the book.

"Excuse me?" A woman's voice suddenly pulled me to reality. "Is someone sitting here?" I glanced away from my book and had my breath literally taken away because there was an angel standing over me.

She was about my age, maybe a year or so younger. Her eyes were the color of perfectly-cut emeralds, her hair unable to quite decide if it should make her a blonde or a brunette. The lines of her face were fine, chiseled, yet at the same time soft, smooth. Her curves were nowhere near as pronounced as Holly Newcastle's, hers were more subtle, gentle, yet still absolutely beautiful.

"Uh, yeah, no, ah, yeah, you are," I stammered, "That is, uh, if you want to." I mentally slapped myself; I could shoot straighter than most cops, take down three men at once with my bare hands (and had done so several times in both the Taekwondo and Krav Maga classes), and I'd _finally_ taught myself to drive stick shift, but I _still_ couldn't talk to a girl! Despite me completely mangling of my answer, she smiled at me as she sat down. Even her smile caused my heart to skip a beat. I smiled back, then quickly put my nose back in my novel before I said anything else stupid.

"What are you reading?" she asked after a minute.

"Ah, it's an action thriller novel. _Dead Six_, it's written by Larry Correia and Mike Kupari. Great book. I've actually read it already, so you can borrow it if you want."

"Thanks," she said, her smile morphing into a slight grimace, "but no thanks. Doesn't sound like my cup of tea."

"You sure?" I asked, "It's no problem if you do."

"Yeah, thanks, I'm sure."

"Okay." I went back to the book for a little bit, then closed it and stuck it back in my backpack. We both stared awkwardly at the walls and ceiling for a minute.

"So…" I said at last, "Where are you from?"

"Chicago," she replied, "River North is the name of the neighborhood. I actually grew up right across the street from the original Pizzeria Uno."

"That's cool," I said, "You must really like deep-dish, then."

"Not really, actually," she admitted with an embarrassed smile.

"Yeah, me neither," I said, "I'm from just west of Philadelphia."

"Rocky," she said, suddenly excited, "I love that movie!"

"I, ah, I've actually never seen any of them," I said.

"What? You're from Philly and you've never seen Rocky? You like Geno's Cheesesteaks, right?"

"Actually, I prefer Pat's but yeah, I love cheesesteaks." We lapsed back into silence for a second. "I take it you're here for the Newbie class too?"

"Uh huh," she nodded.

"How'd you wind up here?"

"A big guy named Owen showed up on my doorstep and offered me a job," she said.

"Yeah, but didn't you have a run-in with a monster first or something?" I asked. She nodded slowly. "What kind?"

"A Naga."

"What's a Naga? Sorry, I know pretty much jack squat about monsters."

"It's… it's like a big, flesh-eating mermaid with big poisonous spines." I grimaced.

"Sounds nasty. What happened?"

"I… I'd rather not…" she said, her voice suddenly cracking. It was only then that I noticed the tears welling up in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I shouldn't have asked."

"You didn't know," she said, wiping her eyes with her shirtsleeve. "It's okay. Ah, how about you? What did you run into?"

"Vampire," I said.

"Ah, you didn't… get bitten, did you?" She said. I noticed she was trying to slowly scoot her chair away from me.

"No, no, don't worry," I said, "I blew its head off with a shotgun before it could get me." She didn't need to know it had beaten me to a bloody pulp first.

"That's good…" she said, then suddenly trailed off. "Was this like six months ago?"

"Something like that," I said.

"At a library, outside Philly?" I nodded. "I think I saw something about that on the news. But, they said it was a serial killer, not a vampire."

"That's the official story," I admitted.

"The one the Government told you to tell or else they'd kill you?" she asked.

"Yeah." She nodded in understanding. That awkward silence descended on is again.

"My name's Steve, by the way," I said after another moment, "Steve Cooper."

"Nice to meet you, Steve," she said, giving me that beautiful smile again, "I'm Odette. Odette Meyers."

"Odette," I repeated. Dear God, even her name was beautiful.

"I know, it's a stupid name," she said.

"No it's not!" I protested, "It's a beautiful name!" No sooner had the words left my mouth than she gave me a look of absolute surprise, and I mentally kicked myself again.

"My parents got it from a ballet, for Pete's sake."

"Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_," I answered automatically. Her look of surprise changed to one of skeptical disbelief. "I loved that story when I was a kid," I said quickly, "My parents bought me a VHS tape of a Japanese Anime version of it, and I watched it so much that I wore the tape out."

"You're weird," she said after a minute, "Has anyone ever told you that?" That beautiful smile was back again.

"Yeah," I said with a smile of my own, "I've heard that a few times."

Any further conversation was cut off as the cafeteria suddenly grew quiet. Odette and I looked over towards the far end of the room as a group of people walked onto the elevated stage set up over there. There were six of them. I recognized Holly Newcastle immediately. Standing next to her was an African American man with his hair pulled back into dreadlocks. On his right was a man with sandy blond hair and a cigarette hanging unlit in the corner of his mouth. Next to him was a big bear of a man – bigger even than Jon – who Odette identified as the Owen who'd recruited her. Next to Owen was a younger, highly attractive woman wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a 1911 on her right hip. Next to her was a bigger man, bald, with a long red beard. He too wore glasses, though his were wire-rimmed.

As the final whips of noise vanished, the sandy-haired man approached the podium at the front of the stage.

"First of all," he said, "thank you all for coming, and welcome to Monster Hunter International. For those of you who have not met me, my name is Earl Harbinger. I'm Director of Operations here at MHI. Each and every one of you was contacted and offered a job here, either by myself or by another Hunter, after you survived an encounter with a monster of some kind. Some of you, I'm sure, are wondering why we'd ever pick someone like you. You don't think you're all that tough, or brave, or strong, or whatever. Well, let me tell you, the mere fact that you survived your encounter is exceptional. You lot, however, are either even more brave or even more stupid than most survivors; I personally invited about twice as many people as are here today, and several more survivors were invited by other Hunters.

"People, I am going to be flat-out honest with you here; Monster Hunting is probably the most dangerous job in the entire world. You all saw the wall of plaques out in the hallway. Each one of those plaques represents a fallen Hunter. I'm not even going to tell you the mortality rate for first year hunters; I don't want all of you to get up and walk out on me. What we do is dangerous, yes, but it is absolutely necessary. In many cases, we're the only thing standing between the rest of humanity and the forces of Darkness." That last comment garnered a few sarcastic chuckles and "yeah, rights," from some of the other Newbies. Harbinger quickly silenced them with a menacing, predatory glare.

"Now, some of you here have backgrounds in either law enforcement or the military. Most of you don't. That doesn't matter. You'll all undergo the same training program. You'll all learn the same information, same tactics, , same everything. Listen to every word your instructors say, and read every single piece of information you're given. Your life, and the lives of your future teammates, will depend on that.

"Some of you will either wash out or be kicked out. Some of you will quit. No, before anyone says anything, I guarantee that some of you will walk out. If you choose to do so, that's fine. Talk to me, or talk to Dorcas. We'll compensate you for your time here and send you on your way. Those of you who do complete your training will be assigned to a Hunter Team. These teams respond to monster outbreaks and other crises as they develop. Others will be assigned to support said teams, gathering intel on the threat or interfacing with local law enforcement, which can be even more difficult that killing Monsters. Trust me on that." The rest of the people up on stage with him started chuckling when he said that last part, prompting a few hesitant laughs from the assembled Newbies.

"Are there any questions?" Harbinger asked once the laughter died down. The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. "No?" he asked. No one spoke up. "Good," he said, "Let's get started."

For the next four months, I did nothing but train to fight and kill all manner of undead creatures. Some parts of training, like the classroom sessions, were boring; some were hard as hell, like cross-country runs and obstacle courses that were so sadistic I imagined would cause Navy SEALs to break down and cry; some were downright fun, that was mainly weapons and combat training; and some just made everyone want to puke, like learning how to stake and decapitate a dead body, and the Gut Crawl. Trust me, you _don't_ want to know what that involved.

My months of preparation beforehand proved to have been invaluable; without them, I would have washed out faster than you could say "werewolf." As it was, Harbinger and his instructors still kicked my ass. The only downside to it all was that I'd gotten myself skilled enough that I tested out of some of the basic classes, mainly combat training, and got put into the advanced courses and, as a result, barely saw Odette outside of the classroom.

By the time it was all said and done, of the 60 or so Newbies that started the training program, exactly twenty of us finished, and almost four months to the day after we first entered, Odette and I stood with the rest of the newly minted Hunters, decked out in our newly-issued Hunter Armor. The armor, which was made up of Kevlar, Nomex, and plastic and ceramic plates, was available in several different "tactical" colors. Most of the new Hunters had opted to get theirs in straight black, but both Odette and I had gone against the grain; she'd picked Olive Drab for her armor, while I'd opted for Flat Dark Earth, since that matched the furniture on both my Crusader Partisan and my FAL. Hey, I'm a gun nut, what do you want?

"Congratulations," Earl Harbinger said, once again standing in front of the podium, "You are all Hunters now. I'm not going to give you some bullshit about how you're all part of some "brotherhood," now or some shit like that. I will say, however, that Monster Hunting is more than just a job; it's a calling, and it takes a special type of person to answer that call. Now, here are your assignments for Hunter Teams." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, opened it, and began to read off a list. "Boone's team, Atlanta, Georgia; George Fulton, Nia Gonzalez, and Larry Phelps. Haven's team, Boulder, Colorado; Rita Whitmore…"

As Harbinger read on, I leaned over to whisper in Odette's ear. "Congratulations. You made it."

"Thanks," she said, "Congratulations to you too. Where do you suppose they'll put us?"

"No idea. You got anywhere in particular you'd like to go?"

"Not really," she admitted, "You?"

"Well, I don't know, I haven't really thought about it," I admitted. At that moment, I heard Harbinger call my name.

"Turner's team, Scranton, Pennsylvania; Steve Cooper and Odette Meyers." I couldn't beat down my smile upon hearing that.

"Looks like we're working together," Odette remarked.

"Yeah," I said.

"And we didn't get put somewhere in the middle of nowhere, like Alaska," she continued, "That's good."

"Yeah," I said again. Truth be told, I wouldn't mind being assigned to Nowhere, Alaska for the rest of my life if it meant I'd be close to Odette. Which was weird; I'd never felt that way about anyone before.

"So," Harbinger said after he'd read off the last name of the list, "That's all for the assignments. You'll leave for your new assignments first thing in the morning. Until then, get some rest. You've all earned it. Again, congratulations, and welcome to Monster Hunter International."


	6. Chapter 6: First Encounters

Chapter 6: First Encounters

It took Odette and I two days to make the trip from Alabama to our new base. We drove up together, but in separate cars; me in my F150, her in an Acura Legend. I'd offered to carpool, but she'd declined, not wanting to leave her sedan behind. Apparently it held some sentimental value to her. As it turned out, it was just as well she'd turned me down, since there wasn't enough room in the bed of my truck for all of our gear.

Scranton had improved dramatically since the last time I'd visited. It had been a mining town for years and years back when coal was plentiful in the region, only to have gone bust when the mines closed down in the 60's. For decades, the region had been referred to as the "Armpit of America," but over the last ten years or so, tourism brought on by the Steamtown National Historic Center and a certain television show had slowly but surely revitalized the town.

It was just about 6:30 PM by the time we made it through Scranton, and I was getting pretty hungry. Unfortunately for me, MHI's local compound was located several miles west of the city, which translated to another half-hour or more of driving time. My stomach apparently wasn't too thrilled with this, since it began growling loud enough for me to hear over my truck's sound system as it blasted AC/DC's _Thunderstruck _from my iPod. A billboard by the side of the road suddenly grabbed my attention. It was an advertisement for someplace called Mike's Diner, which was, according to the sign, only a half-mile down the road. It looked pretty decent, too; the picture on the billboard was of a stereotypical stainless-steel diner from the 1950s. One final growl (actually 'roar' was more like it) from my stomach settled the deal. I paused the iPod and reached for the Motorola walkie-talkie I'd stashed in the cup-holder. Just as my fingers brushed against it, the device suddenly squawked and Odette's voice came through the speaker.

"Hey Steve," she said, "would you mind if we stopped at this diner up here and got something to eat? I'm starving."

"Sure," I said, unable to keep back a laugh.

"What?"

"Nothing, I was just going to call you and ask the same thing."

"Oh," she said with a laugh of her own. I couldn't help but smile brightly at hearing that sound. "Okay, then, see you in a few minutes. Over and out."

"See you," I replied, "Over and out."

A few minutes later, Mike's Diner came into view. It looked exactly how it looked on the billboard; a stainless-steel diner reminiscent of the height of the Rock 'n' Roll era. And, judging by the number of cars in the well-lit parking lot, the place was apparently quite popular. A good sign. We pulled in and quickly found spaces; Odette right in front of the restaurant, me a row behind her.

We soon discovered that the 50's theme presented by the diner's exterior was also present on the inside; vintage movie posters and other memorabilia covered the wall while classic Rock 'n' roll tunes drifted lazily from hidden speakers. As I'd expected, the place was jam-packed, which was no surprise considering how good the food looked and smelled. There was a "Please Wait To Be Seated" sign near the entrance and no free tables in sight, so I leaned back against the doorframe and began idly looking at some of the memorabilia hanging over the counter while Odette began tapping her feet and snapping her fingers to the rhythm of Chuck Berry's guitar.

"Steve?" The surprisingly familiar voice suddenly snapped me back to reality. To my surprise, I spotted Jon and Dominique sitting in a booth with three other people.

"Jon?" I asked in disbelief, "Are you kidding me?"

"Who's that?" Odette asked, "You know that guy?"

"Yeah," I replied, "he and I went to high school together." Then, in a whisper, I added, "He's the guy that recruited me."

"You're kidding." I shook my head 'no' as Jon and Dominique waved the two of us over.

"Here," Dominique said, "C'mon over and sit down, we'll squeeze in." There was some minor grumbling as the five of them pressed themselves even closer together in order to accommodate the two of us, but everyone seemed to go along with it willingly.

"How'd you two know we were here?" Dominique asked.

"We didn't," Odette said, "We were just hungry."

"Well, you definitely came to the right place," the man sitting next to her said, "Mike's is the best place to eat in the whole county." He was short and stocky, with a shock of blonde hair atop his head and a Paul Teutel-style moustache.

"And speak of the devil," Dominique said as another man, Mike, walked over to the table. Mike was about as tall as I was. He was in his late 60s, but his face was so weathered that he looked at least ten years older. His brown hair, or what was left of it, had gone gray almost everywhere except, ironically, for around his temples.

"So," Mike said in a gravelly voice, "these must be the new recruits."

"Uh, yeah, that'd be us," I said.

"Steve, Odette, meet Mike Rendell," Dominique said with a smile, "Mike, this is Odette Meyers and Steve Andres."

"Ah, Naga Girl and Vampire Boy," Mike said, snapping his fingers. Odette and I traded an alarmed glance.

"It's okay," Dominique assured us, "Mike's an ex-Hunter, led the Northeast team for fifteen years. He taught me pretty much everything I know."

"And did a damn fine job of it, too," Mike added proudly, "Seeing you've lasted this long in the business. So," he said, turning back to us, "What can I get you kids?"

"Well… Menus, for starters," Odette said.

"Oh, right," Mike said, "hang on a sec, I'll be right back." He darted off towards the counter. For and old guy, he moved surprisingly fast. Monster hunting must definitely keep people in shape, if it doesn't kill them first. He returned with menus for the two of us a minute later, then headed back towards the kitchen.

"So," I said as I started browsing the menu," what's good?"

"Mike does a mean chicken fingers," the blonde guy with the mustache said. "Home-made batter and honey mustard."

"Sounds yummy," Odette said. "Thanks, ah…"

"Scott Walker," he replied, "Call me Scotty."

"Scotty's our resident demo expert," Dominque added.

"I like to make things go boom," he said with a wicked smile.

"Pleasure to meet you," Odette said.

"Same here," I replied.

"And I know we've already met, Steve, but I'm Dominique, I'm the Big Boss up here," she said, shaking Odette's hand.

"Jonathan Callahan," Jon said next, "Sharpshooter."

"Did you really go to high school with Steve?" Odette asked.

"Yeah, that's right," Jon confirmed.

"He's also the guy that turned me into the raving-lunatic gun-nut that I am today," I added with a grin.

"Has your mother forgiven me for that yet?" he asked.

"I don't think so," I replied. While Mom had loved Jon dearly, she'd never really liked guns that much, and she'd been less than thrilled as a result when she found out that he was the one who'd sparked my interest in them.

"Anyway," Dominique said, "This here is Chris Unger." The man she'd indicated was tall and slim, with a buzz cut so short it was difficult to determine his hair color and muscles that showed even through is long-sleeved shirt. Tattoos poked out from under his collar and shirt cuffs.

"Odette, Steve," he replied curtly.

"Chris is our heavy-weapons man," Dominique explained.

"Marine?" I asked, venturing a guess at his previous occupation.

"That's right," he nodded, "MOS 0331. That's machine gunner to you civilians."

"And I'm Shannon Ibers," the woman sitting next to me said, "I'm the resident bookworm."

"She means intel expert," Jon said, unable to suppress a grin.

"If either of you have any questions about monsters and how to kill them, Shannon's the woman to turn to," Dominique said. Shannon was a petite woman, with short red hair, blue-grey eyes, and what I figured to be an ever-present smile.

As the seven of us shook hands across the table, a waiter returned and took our orders; Odette and I both went with the chicken fingers, though she got a Pepsi while went with Coke.

"So Steve," Scotty said, "I understand you blew off a vampire's head."

"Yeah," I replied, "put two barrels of double-aught buck right down its throat, point-blank." The reactions I got from that remark were interesting; Odette winced a little, Jon and Dominique just sat there (having already heard the story), Chris nodded approvingly, Shannon raised her eyebrows a little, and Scotty actually giggled.

"Nice," he said, then turned to Odette, "How 'bout you? You'd you take out that Naga?" Now it was my turn to wince. Odette still wasn't comfortable talking about the incident.

"I, ah, I… I beat it with an oar… then… stabbed it to death with the oar shaft once the paddle broke off," she said slowly, then brushed away a tear. The table was suddenly covered with an uncomfortable silence.

"Well… uh… good job," Scotty said awkwardly after a few minutes, "Nice going."

Any further conversation was abruptly cut off as the waiter suddenly appeared with our food, which the seven of us immediately attacked with the enthusiasm of a pack of starving animals, which for Odette and I wasn't too far from reality. And I quickly found that Scotty was right, Mike did make the best chicken fingers I'd ever tasted.

"So, Dominique," Odette asked after a few minutes, "How come you all are out here? Steve and I figured you'd be at the compound, or whatever."

"Normally we would, but we just got back from fishing a luska out of Lake Erie, and shockingly nobody got eaten in the process, so we figured we'd come out here to celebrate."

"Damn, a luska?" I asked. I remembered those things from Harbinger's lectures; cross between a giant squid and a Great White Shark, big, smart, mean, and always hungry. Odette apparently remembered them too; her eyes went wide and her jaw fell slack at Dominique's remark.

"And no one got hurt?" she asked.

"We got lucky," Chris said.

"Yeah," Scotty said, "Lucky that I brought that satchel charge."

"Try lucky we didn't all get blown to kingdom come," Chris retorted.

"Wait, wait, a satchel charge?" I asked, "Scotty, you gotta tell me what happened!"

"Well, see, Jon had hooked it with our harpoon gun, and we were reeling it, but then the thing stopped fighting the winch and charged the boat. So while everyone else started freaking out, I went real quick below deck and grabbed the satchel…"

"Aw, hell," Chris interrupted.

"Hey, come on, it was a good idea!" Scotty protested.

"Not you, Walker," Chris said, "them." He pointed out the window at the pair of riced-up Hondas that had just pulled into the lot. Even inside the diner, we could hear and feel the thumping of their subwoofers. The two cars pulled into parking spaces near the edge of the lot, and a moment later four young gangsta-wannabes climbed out of each. Most of us just rolled our eyes and went back to our food, but Chris kept looking out the window, watching them like a hawk. "Hey, Cooper, isn't that your truck?" he asked a few seconds later.

"Huh?" I glanced out the window to see the hoodlums gathered around my truck, peering inside the cab and bed cover. Then one of them tried to open the locked tailgate.

"Oh, hell no!" I exclaimed as I slid out of the booth, "I'll be right back. Touch my fries and die." I heard Dominique shout something to Mike, but I wasn't really paying attention; by that time I was already halfway out the door.

"Hey, you!" I shouted the instant my feet hit the asphalt, "Get away from my truck!" The hoods all stopped what they were doing and looked over at me. One took a step forward after a second.

"This your truck, man?" he asked.

"Hell, yeah, it's mine!" I shouted back, "Now get the hell away from it!"

"Where them keys at?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"I said where the fuck are them keys!" He pulled up his oversized sweatshirt to reveal a small automatic – it looked like a Raven or a Bryco – shoved into his waistband. I instantly swept my jacket out of the way and grabbed my SIG 220 Compact.

"DON'T YOU MOVE!" I screamed at him as my pistol cleared leather. I had it leveled at his chest a second later. "DON'T ANY OF YOU MOVE!" I shouted at his homeboys.

"All of you, get your hands over your head and move out from behind the truck!" I heard Dominque shout, "Do it now!" I risked a quick glance over my shoulder to see the rest of the group –team – fanning out behind me, pistols drawn. It was, I noted absently, an impressive display of firepower; Dominique had her HK45, Jon had his 1911, Odette had the Smith & Wesson 457 she'd taken to carrying concealed, Shannon had a Springfield XD, Chris had a 1911 of his own, and Scotty had… wait, was that an old Smith & Wesson Schofield revolver?

The sudden and quite unexpected appearance of a pistol, quickly followed by a half-dozen more, appeared to have done the trick; the smug grins on the gangbangers' faces abruptly vanished and they scurried back to their ricers, cursing the whole way. As they piled into the cars, one of them turned back and pointed, his face completely covered in fear. It took me a long second to realize something strange; he hadn't pointed at me. In fact, he hadn't pointed anywhere near the Team, he'd pointed… up? Yeah, he'd pointed up above and behind us. But why would he do that? I turned around, looked up towards the roof of the diner, and quickly spotted what he'd seen. It was a group of…

"WIGHTS!" I heard myself scream as the dozen creatures leapt as one from the roof towards us. Everyone else looked up and began firing skyward an instant later. One of the wights landed directly in front of me, and I raised the pistol towards its head and began to squeeze the trigger, I realized I'd fucked up big-time; I hadn't thought to load the thing with the silver PowR Balls. Not that I could do anything about that now. I stroked the trigger three times at near-contact distance, and the back of its head was suddenly splattered all over the front of the diner. The thing dropped like a rock; I guess the Winchester PDX1s I'd gone with worked just fine. Then the thing started dragging itself towards me. I jumped backwards, barely managing to stay out of its reach as I dumped the rest of the magazine into its head. Its skull disappeared in an explosion of black gore and it finally lay still.

"Backgrounds!" I heard Chris shout, "Watch your backgrounds!" Honestly, friendly fire was the last thing on my mind as I yanked a fresh magazine from my belt and immediately dumped it into the chest and head of another charging wight. The thing staggered back as hunks of its chest, legs, and head were ripped away by .45 caliber hollowpoints, but it didn't go down. I was in trouble now; I only had one magazine left and the wight, though I'd managed to slow it down, was still coming.

"I need more ammo!" I shouted to no one in particular as I reloaded.

"Didn't you bring anything heavy with you?" Scotty shouted back. I looked over to see him standing next to a Subaru Outback wagon. The hatch was open, and he was blasting away at a pair of wights with a shotgun that he must have gotten from the back. Of course! The truck!

"Cover me!" I shouted as I sprinted across the parking lot to my F150, desperately fishing the keys from my pocket. I got them out as I skidded to a halt next to the rear of the truck. I had the tailgate open a second later, desperately reaching for one of my gun cases. I found one after a heart-stopping moment and wrenched it free from the rest of my junk. I slid it onto the tailgate and popped it open. It was the one with my FAL. I grabbed the weapon out, slammed an oversized 30-round magazine into the receiver, yanked the charging handle back and let it fly forward, then turned back towards the fight.

Just in time to find the wight I'd just blasted right on top of me. In a panic, I braced the big rifle against my hip and started firing as fast as I could pull the trigger. The heavy thirty-caliber bullets ripped into – and through – it's flesh, turning the hapless wight into undead hamburger. The bolt finally locked back on an empty magazine, and the wight – or rather, what was left of it – finally dropped to the pavement with a wet _THUD_. I quickly grabbed another three 30-rounders from the case, locking one into my rifle and shoving the other two into the pockets of my cargo pants as I looked around for more targets. Most everyone was standing next to their personal vehicles firing heavy weapons now. I saw Chris with what looked like an old M60 pouring fire into a pair of wights, Dominique with some sort of shortened G3 rifle, Scotty alternating between feeding rounds into his shotgun and shooting his Schofields (he had a pair now) at any wight that got too close to him. Jon had a big SR-25 sniper rifle laying the top of his Chevy truck at the edge of the lot, blowing the heads off of any of the undead unlucky enough to land in his crosshairs, while Odette was crouched behind the rear quarter panel of her Acura, shoving a fresh magazine into her UMP45 submachine gun…

…totally unaware of the wight that had somehow made it through the kill zone and was slowly rounding the front of the sedan. I immediately raised my rifle, but couldn't get a shot; Odette was directly between me and the wight. Shit! I did the only thing I could do; I lowered the rifle and started running towards her.

"ODETTE!" I screamed at her, "WIGHT ON YOUR THREE O'CLOCK!" Odette turned to look, only she turned the wrong way; she looked right at me. "NO!" I screamed, "BEHIND YOU! BEHIND YOU!" She turned and saw the wight just as it lunged around the car at her. She instinctively raised her UMP at it but never got a shot off, because at that precise instant I reached her position and forcefully shouldered her out of the way. I snapped my FAL up and fired just as the wight cocked back its fist and swung a hard right into my ribs.

The next instant, the wight was gone from sight and I was flying through the air. I had just enough time to think _what the hell just happened?_ before my head slammed into something hard and stars exploded behind my eyes.


	7. Chapter 7: Nightmares in Dreamland

Chapter 7: Nightmares in Dreamland

I found myself standing on the shore of a lake, at the edge of a great pine forest. The shoreline was covered in large rocks, boulders worn smooth by countless years of wind and water. The sun was setting over the lake, turning the sky into a brilliant tapestry of red, yellow, and violet. I walked over to one of the larger rocks, climbed on top of it, and sat down to watch the sun set. It was the most beautiful sunset I'd ever seen.

"Hello Stephen." I whirled around as I heard the deep bass voice that I would know anywhere. There, standing before me, was Dr. Thomas Bryson. He looked exactly how I remembered him, with his thick wire-rimmed glasses and his slowly-receding hairline. He was wearing the red flannel shirt, jeans, and jean jacket that had been his preferred leisure wear. I couldn't believe it. Dr. Bryson had been the pastor of my church from the time I was a baby. His family and mine had become very good friends soon after my parents had joined his church. He and I had become especially close over the years, eventually becoming something between father/son and older brother/younger brother. He'd been one of my closest, dearest friends.

He'd also died of a heart attack when I was 15.

"Doctor Bryson?" I said, unable to mask my disbelief. He nodded, his infections smile spread across his face. "How are you here?" I asked, "You're… oh… oh my…" the lightbulb finally clicked on "I… I'm dead, aren't I? Is this… heaven?"

"No, Stephen," he said with that deep laugh of his, "This isn't heaven. Don't worry, you're not dead," he added quickly upon seeing my horrified expression, "We're inside your mind."

"Inside my… how are you doing that?"

"It's, um, it's a bit complicated," he said, "difficult for me to explain."

"Uh, okay," I replied, "So… what are you doing here, inside my head? I mean, why are you here?"

"I'm here to warn you, Stephen," he said, his voice suddenly turning grave, "Be careful. Things are not as they appear."

"Yeah, no kidding," I replied, "You're not going to believe this: all those monsters from the really bad horror movies, well, they're real."

"Creations of the Evil One," Dr. Bryson said with a nod, "and now you've chosen to hunt them."

"Yeah, uh, yes, I have," I said. "Don't think I'm doing a very good job, though."

"You've done better than most," he said, "but that brings me back to my warning; something is coming."

"What?" I asked.

"A threat, against you and your Team," he replied, his voice grave, "but it will not be what it will appear to be."

"What does that mean?" I asked. "What is this threat? And why won't it be as it appears? What will it really be?"

"I can't tell you, Stephen," he said sadly, "I want to, believe me when I say that I want to tell you, but I can't."

"What?" I asked, suddenly angry at my former mentor, "Why not?"

"It's… complicated," he said, "There are rules. We're not allowed to tell you anything that can compromise your free will."

"So… what? You're telling me that you can't tell me what's coming because doing so would impact any choice I'll make in response to it?"

"Essentially, yes," he said, "Which reminds me; when this threat finally manifests itself and you realize its true nature, you will eventually find yourself forced to make a choice."

"What choice?" I asked, then caught myself, "Nevermind, you can't tell me."

"No," he said, "I can't. I can tell you that it will be a life-or-death decision, and that you will have to choose between two lives."

"What? I… I don't… I don't think… uh, I don't know if I'll be able to do that, Doctor Bryson." I said at last. This was probably the last thing I ever wanted someone to tell me. "Can't I try and save both?"

"You won't have that luxury," he said sadly, "Though I can tell you that no matter which life you chose to save, that person _will_ be saved."

"That's… good, I guess," I said after a long moment of reliving some very unpleasant memories. "I guess I can accept that."

"That's good," he said.

"But the… the other person, they'll die, right?"

"I'm afraid so," he said somberly, "In all likelihood, that person will die. And now I'm sorry Stephen, but I have to leave."

"What? No!" I asked. I hadn't been able to talk to him in almost ten years; I didn't want him to leave now. "Why do you have to go?"

"Because you need to wake up," he said with that impish grin he got whenever he was making a joke.

"Oh, right. Uh, look, before you do go, there's something I need to say. I'm really sorry I never told you about me liking James Bond."

"Oh, that?" he asked. "That's perfectly alright. In fact, I don't blame you."

"You don't?"

"Think about it Stephen; I was your pastor, did you really want to tell me you like a character who kills people, sleeps with women he's not married to, steals things, and lies about who he is? That's four of the Commandments right there. I'm sure if we put our heads together long enough, we could come up with ways he's broken the other six. Oh, and you're right; I think I would have liked this Craig fellow's portrayal of Double-Oh Seven."

"Thanks," I said with a smile.

"Though I must say, I'm not sure how I feel about you turning into a paranoid right-wing gun nut on me," he continued. I opened my mouth to protest, only to see that impish grin of his return. "Goodbye, Stephen," he said, as his figure slowly began to fade away. "Oh, when you wake up, tell the paramedics that your head, neck, and back are fine."

"What? Why?"

"I know how much you love hospitals," he said as disappeared completely, "I thought I'd do you a favor and spare you an unneeded trip."

A moment later, the sun finally descended below the horizon. Then my world was filled with pain as bright light exploded in my eyes.

I was laying on my back atop something hard. My head felt like someone had just used it as a tapdancing stage. "Woah, woah, easy there," I heard someone say, "Don't try and move, just take it easy." I opened my eyes to a blurry mess. I could see people standing over me, but I didn't recognize the voices. I blinked a few times to clear my vision and tried to sit up. Someone immediately grabbed my shoulders and eased me back down.

"Hey, lemme go," I said to the blurry figures above me, who quickly resolved into a pair of EMTs.

"Not so fast, buddy," one of them said, "You hit your head pretty good back there, what with you trying to play human pinball and using a truck as a bumper. We don't think you're neck's broken, but we're gonna take you to the ER for some x-rays just to make sure."

"I'm fine," I said, "Let me up."

"No can do, friend," the second EMT replied, "You're going to the hospital."

"The hell I am," I exclaimed, "Get me one of those AMA discharge forms for me to sign."

"Look, sir…"

"Hey, either that or you'll be hearing from my lawyers." I didn't actually have a lawyer, but they didn't need to know that. The two EMTs exchanged worried glances before one of them got up, walked over to where I assumed the ambulance was, and returned with a clipboard and a pen. They wouldn't let me so much as stand up until I signed the forms. I slowly rose to my feet, only to nearly fall over as a wave of dizziness and nausea slammed into me like a rogue wave. Fortunately, I was able to stay up, because I knew that if I went down the EMTs would override me and bundle me off the ER faster than you could say "timber!"

The sensation passed after a minute or so, and I looked around at the aftermath of the wight attack. Surprisingly, there were no bodies; only smoking puddles of black liquid. It took me a second to remember that wights melted after they were killed. It took me another couple of seconds to spot the rest of the team. When I did, I let out a long groan, because with them were none other than…

"Agents Willard and Simpkin, how nice to see you two again," I said as I approached, a fake smile plastered across my face.

"Andrews!" Willard exclaimed. "What the hell are you doing here? Please don't tell me you're working for these scofflaws."

"Hey," Dominique objected, "We're a legitimate organization; everything that happened here tonight was perfectly legal."

"For now," Willard spat at her, "If it were up to me, every single one of you so-called Hunters would be thrown behind bars for the rest of your worthless lives. Civilians should have no place Hunting."

"Yeah, about that," Chris said, "remind me again, how badly did Monster attack rates go up during those six years you were able to shut us down? Something like three _thousand_ percent, wasn't it?" Willard's face suddenly turned an unflattering shade of crimson.

"One day," he snarled, "one day you're all going to make another big mistake, and when you do, I'll be laughing my head off as I toss you into your cells." Through the entire conversation, I noticed Simpkin just stood in the background, shifting uncomfortably on his heels.

"In your dreams, Willard," Dominique retorted, "We'll be sending you the PUFF paperwork for these guys by the end of the week. Are we cool here?"

"Oh, yeah, we're real cool," Willard growled, then he turned to me. "You'd better watch your back, Andrews. Your ass is gonna be mine one day, I promise you."

"Thanks for the offer, Willard, but I don't roll that way," I replied. That earned a collective snort from the rest of the team and, to my surprise, Simpkin. Willard immediately shot his subordinate a glare that, if looks could kill, would probably have vaporized the unfortunate agent. He then spun on his heels and stormed off to the drab-looking Crown Victoria parked at the edge of the lot. We all watched them go for a minute, then everyone slowly moved back towards their respective vehicles to put away their weapons.

"So," Odette said to me, "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, "What happened?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" she asked.

"Uh… me yelling at you to look out for the wight, knocking you out of the way, flying through the air, and that's it."

"The wight hit you," she said, "it sent you flying about twenty feet until you hit a Chevy Suburban and were knocked out. Are you sure you're okay? You left a pretty big dent in the door."

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, "How about you, are you all right?"

"Yeah, thanks to you," she said, "I could've gotten him, you know."

"Probably," I admitted.

"So why did you do it?"

"Huh?"

"Why'd you knock me out of the way if I could've gotten him?"

"I… I don't know," I admitted. "I wasn't thinking, I just saw you in trouble and I acted."

"And almost got yourself killed," she pointed out.

"Hey, you're worth it." She stopped in her tracks and gave me a look of absolute disbelief. I mentally kicked myself. Why did I always have to go and say really stupid things to her?

"Hey Steve!" Scotty's shout allowed me to quickly remove my shoes from my mouth. "Figured you want this back." He was carrying my FAL. "Oh, man, that is a sweet gun!" He exclaimed. He was practically drooling over the thing. "Did you see what it did to that one wight? Absolute devastation, man! Pure, absolute devastation!"

"Uh, thanks," I said. Odette took that moment to say a quick goodbye and head back to the diner before I could say anything.

"So, uh, Scotty, I noticed, uh, are those Schofields?" I asked, indicating the revolvers strapped to his hips.

"Yep," he replied. "Well, not really; they're actually replicas made by Uberti. .45 Long Colt."

"Nice, but aren't they, I dunno… a little unusual? I mean, I figured that all Hunters roll with .45 autos."

"Well, yeah, most do" he admitted, "but thing is, I was into Cowboy Action Shooting 'fore I started hunting. Schofield Scotty, they used to call me," he said as his face began to glow with pride. "First and thus far only SASS member to win a National Championship with Schofields."

"Cool, that's really cool. But, uh, how do you reload them? When you're under fire, I mean? Or attack or whatever you want to call it?" Scotty just smiled, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small round gizmo with a half-dozen bullets sticking out of one end.

"Speedloaders," he explained. "Friend of mine cooked 'em up especially for my Schofields."

"Are those silver PowR Balls?" I asked, "I thought they only came in .45 ACP."

"Normally they do, but I special-order just the bullets from our supplier, load 'em into the Long Colt casings myself."

"Hey, Hunters!" A shout from the restaurant door grabbed everyone's attention. It was Mike; he was standing in the doorway, an Ingram M10 submachine gun with a big silencer screwed over the barrel slung under his right shoulder, "Y'all want to come finish eating?" he asked, "Not that I mind or anything, but your food's getting cold!"

By the time it was all said and done, it was long after midnight by the time we got to MHI's Northeast Headquarters. The place was very similar to the Alabama compound, only significantly smaller. Fitting, since there were only seven of us instead of over seventy. The one big difference was that while the Alabama compound had dormitory-style housing, Scranton had small houses for each team member. They weren't much; little single story affairs with a living room, bedroom, kitchen, and full bath, but they looked plenty comfortable for their size. Truth be told, I couldn't care less at the moment; by the time Dominique showed me to my place, I had just enough energy to walk into the bedroom, strip down to my skivvies, and flop onto the bed. I didn't even care that it was unmade.

That night, I had the strangest dream. I was in Philadelphia, running down the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. Corpses littered the road; some of them looked like they'd been shot, some looked half-eaten. Most look like they'd suffered through both. I was wearing my armor, which was laden down with weaponry; my FAL was in my hands, my full-sized P220 was in a drop-leg holster below my right hip, while its smaller brother rode horizontally in a holster at the small of my back. My Mossberg and Wakazashi were crossed over my back; the Katana hung in a scabbard on my left hip. My Kel-Tec PF-9 was strapped inside my right ankle, and my armor was covered in spare magazines and sharpened oak stakes.

I was chasing something. It was an enormously huge creature, flying through the air on great bat-like wings. A gargoyle, I realized. There was something clutched in its talons. The great beast accelerated, diving towards and then through the Art Museum's roof. I charged up the Rocky Steps and through the front door. Raising the FAL to my shoulder, I began to slowly make my way up the main staircase. I eventually found myself in the Arms and Armor display.

There was a man there. His very presence exuded evil. I raised my rifle and dumped the magazine into him as fast as I could pull the trigger. He barely flinched. I dropped the FAL, pulled the Mossberg from its scabbard, and pumped 144 pellets of silver double-aught buckshot into him in less than three seconds. He hardly reacted to it. I drew my pistols one by one, emptying each one of them into the man, but yet again he stood there, the bullets seemingly having no effect on him. I drew my blades and charged him. A sword with a basket hilt, all black, suddenly appeared in his hands and he effortlessly swatted my blades aside. I swung at him again and again, every time he either skillfully sidestepped me or parried my strikes as fast as I could deliver them.

Without warning he struck, and pain raced up my leg as his blade tore into it. I collapsed to my knees as his blade descended again, plunging into my left arm. The wakazashi fell from my suddenly-numb hand, and I dropped the katana as I instinctively grabbed at my wounds. The man bent down, grabbed my hair, and painfully hauled me to my feet. One arm wrapped around me like a vice as he brought his blade to my throat. Through the roar of his malevolent laughter, I could hear Odette screaming my name.

I awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. My right leg was in the grip of the worst Charley horse I'd ever had, and my left hand was numb from me rolling onto it while I slept. As I tried desperately to both massage the feeling back into my fingers and unclench my calf muscles, I realized that there was someone knocking on my front door. It was Odette.

"Steve?" she called through the door, "Steve? Are you in there?"

"Yeah, I'm awake," I called back. "Hang on one second." I leapt out of bed and bit back a curse as pain raced back up my leg. I grimaced as I limped over to the door and started to undo the deadbolt when I realized I hadn't secured it the night before. I must've been a lot more tired than I remembered. I muttered another curse under my breath and pulled the door open to find Odette standing there waiting for me. For some reason, her eyes grew as big as dinner plates when she saw me.

"Hey," I said, "What's up?"

"Huh? Oh, ah, we were just, ah, I mean, ah Shannon's cooking everyone breakfast over in the cafeteria, in, uh, the main building. P…pancackes, eggs, and bacon."

"Sounds great," I said. I started to push the screen door open, but Odette abruptly reached out and slammed it back closed. "What?" I asked in surprise.

"Ah… well, uh, how can I put this?" she stammered, "Would… would you, ah, mind… maybe… putting pants on first?"

"What?" I looked down and discovered, to my complete and utter embarrassment, that I was clad only in a pair of boxer shorts. Even worse, they were the elephant-pattern ones my brother had gotten me for Christmas as a gag gift. "Aw jeeeez…" I said, "Odette, I am so sorry! Let me get dressed and I'll meet you over there." I raced back to my bedroom before she had a chance to say anything and yanked on a pair of cargo pants. Another minute or so of rummaging through my duffel bag yielded a shirt that wasn't too horribly wrinkled, so I threw that on too. I fished my Timberlands out from under my bed, pulled them on and laced them, and hurried back to my front door. Odette was already gone, so I leaded over to the main building, making sure I locked my door before I left.

The cafeteria was basically a large room with a kitchen area on one side and a long table on the other I found Odette, Jon, Chris, and Scotty sitting around the table waiting for me while Shannon fussed over the stove. As I slid into the seat next to Odette, the table erupted with snickers.

"What?" I asked.

"You know Steve," Jon said, "I knew you liked to wear your political affiliation on your sleeve, but isn't that taking it a little too far?"

"Wha- you told them?" I asked Odette in disbelief.

"Sorry," she said, trying, without much success, to hold back her laughter, "I just… I couldn't help myself."

"Oh, Lord," I said with a groan, "I'm never gonna be able to live this down, am I?"

"Nope," Scotty said with a wicked grin. Even the normally-impassive Chris was chuckling to himself.

"Come on guys, be nice to him," Shannon said as she placed a heaping stack of pancakes in front of me. "It was an accident. Steve can wear whatever sort of trunks he likes." The table dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of laughter when she said that. I wanted to just curl up under the table and die.

"Eat up quick," we all turned around to see Dominique come striding quickly into the room, her face all business. "We've got a job."

"Where and what?" Chris asked.

"Vermont. Werewolf sightings near Lake Dunmore."

"Is this the same one we've been tracking for the last two months?" Jon asked.

"Probably," Dominique replied.

"Just the one, right?"

"So far as we know, yeah, there's only one, so we'll leave the heavy equipment at home."

"So…" Shannon said.

"Yes, Shannon, you can bring the Katera," Dominque said with an exasperated smile.

"Yay!" Shannon squealed. Dominique just rolled her eyes; Chris and Jon followed suit.

"As I was saying, we should only need rifles, subguns, and shotties for this. No explosives. Sorry, Scotty," Dominique gave the demo expert an apologetic look.

"Oh well," he said, "I'll just bring some FRAG-12s for the Benelli."

"So, silver bullets," Chris said. "We need anything else?"

"Yeah," I said, "a couple industrial sized cans of bug spray." At the rest of the team's confused looks, I explained. "My family and I rented a cabin on Lake Dunmore for a week when I was in high school. The mosquitoes up there will eat you alive!"


	8. Chapter 8: First Hunt

Chapter 8: First Hunt

"Damn it!" Scotty shouted as he slapped at yet another Mosquito that had landed on his cheek. "I hate these freakin' things! I'm gettin' bit in places I didn't even know I had!"

"I told you guys," I said with a sigh, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes, "Didn't I tell you before we left?" We'd been moving through the piney woods around Lake Dunmore for the last hour, since darkness had fallen. Even with the sun long gone, the mosquitoes that I'd warned everyone about were still out in force. Unfortunately for Scotty, he hadn't listened to me and way paying the price as a result.

"You know what, Steve? Why don't you just… Damn it!" He squished another bug that tried to take a drink from his left thumb.

"Quiet!" Dominique hissed at us, then pressed her finger against one of her earplugs. "Jon, Chris, either of you got anything?"

"Not a thing," Joe's voice said back over the radio net.

"Hunter Six, Hunter Three" Chris said over the radio net, "All quiet, no sign of the target."

"Three, Six," Dominique replied, unable to suppress a grin, "I copy all quiet, but this ain't the Corps anymore, Chris."

"Copy, Six." Dominique just rolled her eyes.

"Three years and he still does that," she said, half to herself.

"He's been with you guys for three years?" Odette asked.

"Yeah," Dominique said, raising an eyebrow, "Why do you ask?"

"I… I thought it would have been longer," Odette explains, "he just seems so… so…"

"Hardened?" I chimed in.

"Exactly."

"Yeah," Dominique said, "I know what you mean. He wasn't always like that. He's… he had a rough time recently."

"What happened?" I asked

"Not my place to say," Dominique said. Neither of us pressed the issue, but I couldn't help but notice the look that Dominique shared with Scotty.

"Guys, I've got movement," Jon said, his voice suddenly tight, "Approximately forty meters west of your position."

"Shit," Dominique said, "That's not good."

"No kidding," I said under my breath. The team had split into two groups; Dominique, Scotty, Odette and I were closer to the edge of the lake while Shannon, Chris, and Jon were on the top of the small hill off to our left. The plan was to cover more ground that way, but it had just backfired; if it was the werewolf that Jon had seen, it was now directly between our two squads, and so neither squad could risk engaging it without potentially hitting the other group with friendly fire.

"Can you confirm it's the werewolf?" Scotty asked.

"Uh, stand by…" Jon said. For a long moment, we stood there, pointing our guns into the moonlit pines. I glanced around nervously, saying a quick prayer that it wasn't "Confirmed, it's the werewolf." Jon's voice was barely a whisper.

Ah, shit.

"Okay," Dominique whispered into the radio, "Listen up, this is what we're gonna do: Team Two holds position on the ridge while Team One falls back about twenty meters and moves in towards the ridge. We'll get him in a crossfire. Understand?" Scotty, Odette, and I all nodded.

"Got it," Jon replied.

"Copy that," Chris whispered.

"Understand," Shannon agreed.

Without another word, the four of us slowly began to move back into the woods. Straining my eyes, I realized I could just make out the werewolf; a dark green smudge in the display of my night-vision monocular. I couldn't really tell if he'd spotted us, but I somehow doubted

The howl cut through the night like a machete through thick brush, turning my blood to ice.

"Shit, he's heading towards us!" Shannon's slightly panicky voice came over the net as the beast vanished from my sight.

"Stay cool, Shannon," Dominique said, "Tag it quick."

"No problem." A moment later the night was cut by the sound of a shrieking whistle, followed by a wet _thwunk_ and another blood-curdling howl. "Got the sucker!" came Shannon's excited voice a moment later.

"Move in!" Dominique shouted at us. We needed no bidding; we'd already broken into a run, guns up and ready. We came upon the beast a moment later. It was sprawled out on the ground, unmoving, with a thick oak shaft growing out of its skull. The tip, which I was almost certain was silver, was burrowed deeply into its brain; it had been a one-shot kill. Shannon was standing in front of her latest trophy, bow in hand, that eternal smile of hers filled with pride. Jon and Chris flanked her, guns slung casually over their shoulders.

"Well, that was certainly easy enough," Dominique said, "Nice shot, Shannon."

"Thanks, Dominique," Shannon said.

"I still can't believe you use a bow," Odette exclaimed.

"Yeah, me neither," I added, "Why that and not a rifle or a shotgun?"

"I'm not a very good shot, with a gun anyway," Shannon explained with a shrug, "I've been shooting bows since I was five, though. I was always obsessed with Robin Hood and William Tell as a little girl for some reason."

"Hey, whatever works," I replied. "Good shooting, or whatever you call it in archery."

"Thanks, Steve."

"Okay," Dominique said, still all-business, "someone get tissue samples so we can collect the PUFF on this thing, then let's burn this bastard and go home."

"What's the PUFF on this thing, do you think?" Odette asked.

"Well," Dominique replied, "Near as we can tell, it's about six months old; taken about a dozen victims, so figure about eighty, eighty-five grand."

"Not bad for one arrow, huh?" Shannon asked, smile growing even bigger.

"No," Odette said," Not bad at all."

A few minutes later, Dominique and Shannon had taken the appropriate tissue samples for submission to the MCB while the rest of us gathered firewood and built a rudimentary pyre to burn the werewolf's carcass.

"Damn it!" Scotty shouted again as he swatted away yet another mosquito, "Can we please go home now?"

"Not yet," Chris grunted as he and Jon heaved the body atop the pyre. "Gotta make sure this thing burns clean first. Don't want the whole forest to go up with it." He had a good point; the entire forest floor was covered with dead pine needles; it was a veritable tinderbox.

"Stupid hippie environmentalist – damn it!" _Splat!_

"Scotty," I started, but he shoved his hand into my face.

"Steve, I swear to God that if you say 'I told you so,' I am going to holy SHIT!"

The ground around my feet exploded. My legs went numb and my knees buckled, sending me sprawling on my back. I screamed in horror as a dozen arms burst through the topsoil at my feet, grabbing and clawing for me. I grabbed wildly for my FAL as the first creature clawed its way to the surface. It was a wight. My fingers found the rifle and I wildy swung it as the creature lunged at me. The vertical foregrip grip collided hard with its temple, shattering the skull and swatting it aside. I quick shouldered the rifle around as another wight leapt from the ground and lunged for me. I flicked the safety off and pulled the trigger just as the creature's neck touched the muzzle. Black blood and ichor splattered all over me as the creature's head was literally separated from its body. The thing collapsed atop me, and my body was instantly gripped by a cold, paralyzing numbness. The rifle fell from my suddenly-lifeless hands as a third wight pulled itself from the earth. My eyes locked with the creature for what felt like hours. I could only lay there, helpless, as a hungry grin of blackened, broken teeth appeared on its face. The creature leapt at me.

Then my world exploded into violence.

Bullets tore into the ground around me. The wight let out an inhuman screech as hot lead and silver lanced into its body, turning its undead organs into pulp and spraying black blood all over the forest floor. I wanted to scream; the only reason I didn't was because my voice was frozen in my throat by the dead wight's paralyzing touch. The third wight staggered backwards before it disappeared in a cloud of kicked-up dirt.

The focus of fire shifted a second later, to my left side. I somehow rolled my head over to see the first wight, the one who's skull I'd crushed, staggering back to its feet. Its torso vanished a second later in a bright fireball that blinded me through my monocular. So those were the Frag-12s that Scotty had been talking about.

Strong hand suddenly grabbed my armor and began to pull me away, out of the kill zone. I managed to look back. It was Jon.

"You all right?" He asked. I tried to answer, but the only thing that escaped my paralyzed lungs was a weak croak. "You okay?" he asked again. I managed a nod. "Good." He abrubtly dropped me and snapped up his SR-25, coolly pumping a trio of rounds into the head of yet another charging wight, exploding the creature's cranium like an over-ripe melon.

"Hang tight," he said to me, "I'll cover you."

"I got your back too!" Odette called as she ran over, dumping her UMPs magazine into a fifth wight. The heavy .45 caliber slugs stitched the creature from crotch to nose, darn near cutting it in half.

"CLEAR?" I heard Dominique shout a few seconds later. Everyone called back one by one. Clear. It was over.

"Steve, you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," I gasped as feeling slowly returned to my body. It felt like there were hot pin and needles sticking into every inch of skin and muscle in my body. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You sure?" Odette asked. There was no mistaking the genuine fear in her voice.

"Sure," I said. "Could someone help me up?" Both Jon and Odette extended their hands. "Thanks," I said as I hauled myself to my feet. "Thanks for saving my ass, guys," I addressed the whole team, then turned to Jon. "Hey, man, thanks for getting me out of the kill zone."

"No problem, Steve," he replied, "I know you'd do the same."

"You know it," I replied with a nod. "Everyone else okay?"

"Yeah," Dominique replied.

"Jeez, man, you were standing right on top of them!" Scotty exclaimed. "Are you sure you're all right?" I nodded. "Hey, Steve, I'm sorry I didn't blast 'em right away."

"Hey, don't worry about it, like you said, I was standing right on top " I tried to take a step forward, but my knees were still shaky and I found myself going down hard. There must've been a rock or a root there or something, because the next thing I remember was the team screaming my name as my world was suddenly filled with a sharp light and an even sharper pain.

**********

My eyes snapped open to a clear, sapphire-blue sky. The wind whipped around me, carrying with it the smell of salt water. I slowly got to my feet and took a look around. I was high up on some sort of balcony overlooking what appeared to be the Atlantic Ocean. I looked down over the railing and almost instantly regretted it; I hate heights. Before I clamped my eyes shut and pushed myself back from the railing, I was able to get a good look at the structure below me; a thin, round, and _very_ tall tower. A quick peek up at the rest of the structure confirmed it; I was standing atop a lighthouse.

"You know Stephen, you really need to be more careful out on those missions of yours." I looked over to see Dr. Bryson once again standing next to me, that mischievous twinkle once again in his eye. "At the rate you're going, I'd say you'll wind up dead from one to many knocks on the head long before any Monsters get you." I couldn't help but laugh along with him; Dr. Bryson's humor had always been infections, and besides, he was right.

"Point taken," I said once we'd stopped chuckling, "but somehow I get the feeling you didn't bring me here, or come here, or however it works, to crack jokes."

"I'm afraid you're right, Stephen," he said, his smile vanishing. "You remember the warning I gave you?"

"The threat against me and my team that's coming, and how I'll have to choose between two lives?" I asked. He nodded.

"It is coming sooner than I had thought."

"Huh?" I asked, "What do you mean, 'sooner than you'd thought'? I thought you angels, uh, you are an angel, right?"

"Yes… I guess you could call it that. It's complicated."

"Okay, yeah, uh, like I was saying, I thought you angels knew everything," I said, "how can it be happening sooner than you thought?"

"Stephen, only He knows everything, remember?" That smile was back.

"Okay, right, sorry," I said sheepishly.

"It's all right," he said, then his smile vanished again.

"I'm guessing the wights hitting us tonight was part of said threat." Dr. Bryson nodded.

"And the ones who attacked you at the diner were as well."

"And you can't tell me who or what is coming after us?"

"I'm sorry, Stephen," he said, shaking his head.

"Can you at least tell me why this thing's coming after us?" Again, he shook his head. "Can you at least give me _some_ idea of what we're up against?"

"I'm sorry, Stephen," he said again. There was no way I could miss the genuine sadness in his voice.

"Free will and all that?" I asked. He nodded. "Can you at least tell me who I'll have to choose between?" He shook his head again. His eyes were filled with sorrow. "It's gonna be between two of the team, isn't it?" I asked.

"Stephen, you know I can't tell you," he replied sadly. I leaned back against the cool wall of the lighthouse and sighed, shaking my head.

"Is there anything you can tell me?" I asked after a long moment.

"Well…" he thought for a moment, then his eyes suddenly lit up. "Actually, there is something."

"What?"

"Watch out for The Beast," he said, that impish grin tugging at his lips.

"What?" I said, suddenly feeling _very_ afraid, "What beast?"

"Trust me," he said as he slowly began to fade from sight, "You'll thank me later."

************

"Steve, I swear, you've got to be the clumsiest Hunter I've ever seen!" Dominique's voice was the first thing I heard as I returned to reality, followed shortly thereafter by the splitting headache that accompanied it.

"What… what happened?" I asked as I slowly worked my eyes open. The forest was lit by the pale, wavering light of the burning pyre. It was real freaky-looking. The thick odor of burning werewolf certainly didn't help matters.

"You tripped over your own two feet and then hit your head on a root." That was Jon. "Seriously, man, you need to be more careful."

"Yeah," I groaned as I slowly got to my feet, "That's what Doctor Bryson said."

"Who?" Odette asked.

"You know, Doctor Bryson, my old pastor, the one who… oh." It was only then that I realized I'd never told the team about him.

"Wait, uh, Steve," Jon said, "Didn't he… uh… die?"

"Yeah," I said slowly, "It's… ah… it's kind of complicated."

"Well, it's probably gonna take a while for that bonfire to burn out," Dominique said as she sat on a fallen log. "We got plenty of time."

I wound up telling them everything, every single detail from both of my 'encounters,' for lack of a better word, with Dr. Bryson. I also told them about the weird dream I'd had the night before; I couldn't shake the feeling that it might be related. By the time I'd finished recounting everything I could remember, the bonfire had pretty much burned itself out.

"Look," I said in conclusion, "I know it sounds real crazy—"

"Actually, it doesn't." Dominique said, "This isn't the first time we've had a hunter who's had visions." She turned to Chris. "Call Earl, bring him into the loop on this."

"Will do," he said, then turned and started hiking back towards the trucks.

"Are you sure he didn't say anything about this threat?" she asked me.

"I wish he had," I said with a shrug, "You guys know as much as I do right now."

"He must've pissed some big-time undead off real good," Scotty said.

"Maybe, maybe not," Shannon replied, "Remember, we don't know specifically who this threat is aimed against. It could be any of us."

"Maybe, but these wights didn't start bothering us until he joined up with us."

"Hey, I've got no clue here either," I said, "And I'm pretty sure I didn't do anything to tick off some undead overlord, er, underlord, er, whatever you call it. Hell, I didn't even know undead existed until I took out that baby vampire." Dominique, Scotty, Shannon, and Jon suddenly exchanged alarmed glances. "What?" I asked.

"The vamp could've been related to a powerful undead," Shannon said, "I'll look into it once we get back to base."

"How?" Odette asked before I could.

"Oh, I'll hack the MCB database, see what the DNA results say." I don't know what shocked me more; the casual way Shannon said that or the fact that no one else (besides Odette and myself) was the least bit phased by her plan.

"What about the figure from your dream?" Shannon asked, "Can you describe him?"

"Not really," I said after a minute or so of hard concentration, "I mean, he was definitely a man, he was a little taller than me, but I couldn't see his face."

"Couldn't see how?" Shannon pressed, "Was he wearing a mask?"

"No, his face was just… fuzzy, indistinct, I guess. I mean, he had a face, but I just couldn't make it out. Sorry." Both Shannon and Dominique frowned at that, but there wasn't anything they could do. I mean, I _wish_ I'd seen the guy's face, but it's not like I can control my dreams or anything like that.

"What about this Beast he said to watch out for?" Dominique asked, "He didn't tell you anything about that, did he?"

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head, "Nothing. Actually, wait a sec, maybe."

"What?"

"Well, he didn't actually say anything about it, but when he said it, he had that glimmer in his eye he always used to get when he was about to tell a joke or pull a prank or something."

"You think he might be setting us up?" Jon asked.

"No way!" I shouted, maybe a bit more indignantly than I should have, "Not a chance. Doctor Bryson would _never_ do that to me! Besides, think about it; if he was setting us up, why would he warn us about this threat in the first place?"

"Good point," Jon replied, "Sorry."

"So, what?" Dominique asked, "You think this Beast, whatever it is, might not be part of this threat?"

"I don't know," I admitted, "I don't think so."

"You trust this guy?" Jon asked.

"I trusted him with my life when he was alive," I said, "Any reason I should stop just because he's dead?" No one could come up with an answer to that.

After a few more minutes, the fire was completely out. We cleaned up the ashes as best we could, hauled the charred bones up to our trucks and dumped them in the back of one.

"I just got off the phone with Earl," Chris said as we approached the trucks, "He and his team are leaving for a contract job in Austria in the morning, but he says he wants to talk with Steve when he gets back."

"Is that good or bad?" I asked.

"Probably good," Scotty said. "If it were bad, he'd come up here and eat you before he had to leave." Odette and I laughed at that, though for some reason, no one else even broke a smile.

"Where in Austria?" I asked. I'd spent a few months studying in Vienna when I was in college.

"Some little town called Hallstatt, I think," Chris replied.

"Lucky buggers," I said, "That area's beautiful this time of year."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't call them lucky."

"Why?"

"Apparently a lindwyrm's taken up residence in a salt mine near there."

"Okay, nevermind," I said quickly.

"Can we _please_ get out of here now?" Scotty begged as he swatted away yet another mosquito.

"Okay, Scotty, I'd say you've suffered enough," Dominique said with a grin, "Load up everyone. Let's get out of here."


	9. Chapter 9: Enter The Beast

The ride back to Scranton was mind-numbingly boring. I was in the lead SUV, a Ford Excursion. Dominique and Shannon were in the front seats while Odette and I rode in the captain's chairs in the second row. The bench in the third row had been removed to make room for equipment, but was now mainly filled with the charred werewolf bones. The Expedition stank of burned wood and charred flesh, so all of the windows were rolled down even though it was March and still pretty cold.

Dominique and Shannon had tried picking my brain some more for the first hour or so, but it hadn't been much use; I'd already told them everything I knew. They eventually gave up and began chatting back and forth between themselves. I didn't really pay much attention to their conversation.

Odette, for her part, stayed pretty much silent throughout the whole ride. She mainly just stared out the window, not really looking at the scenery, more like just staring off into space looking… sad. Really, really sad. And I, for the life of me, couldn't figure out why.

"You feeling okay?" I asked her when the silence became too much.

"Huh?" she asked, looking over towards me, "Oh, yeah, I'm fine," she said, then went back to staring out the window. I didn't buy her answer for a second. Her body language, the tone of her voice, heck, her staring off into space for more than two whole hours, all of it told me that something was wrong.

"You sure you're okay?" I asked.

"I said I'm fine!" she snapped at me.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry," I said, raising my hands in surrender, "I just thought that with the way you were acting "

"Steve, leave her alone," Dominique said.

"I was just trying "

"I said leave it, Steve." The tone in her voice left exactly _zero_ room for argument.

"Okay, sorry," I said, turning back towards my own window. Geez, I thought as I watched the scenery fly by us, I was only trying to…

Something outside suddenly grabbed my attention. It was a farmhouse, set back from the road quite a ways at the top of a small hill. The driveway ran all the way down to the highway (which had turned into a glorified two-lane road some miles back), and sitting at the end of the driveway was…

"Holy smokes!" I shouted, "Stop! Stop the truck!"

"What? What is it?" Dominque said, jamming on the brakes and simultaneously drawing her HK45. Both Shannon and Odette both went for their pistols as the big Ford screeched to a halt. The guys in the Suburban behind us jammed on their horn and swerved, just missing us. Before we'd even stopped, I was out of the Expedition and running back towards the driveway.

"Holy cow," I said as I started giggling like a little kid. "Holy cow."

It was a 1969 Pontiac GTO, black, with red, yellow, and blue stripes and matching decals that said JUDGE. The paint was faded, chipped in a few spots, and the whole car was covered in dust and dirt and road grime, but to me, it was still drop-dead gorgeous. I started walking slowly around the car, still giggling like an idiot, taking in every angle of the beautiful machine. To my absolute delight, there was a big black-and-orange FOR SALE sign sitting in the driver's side window. I still had most of my PUFF from the vampire in my account, my checkbook was in my duffel back in the Expedition, so hell yes! I was halfway up the driveway when a woman emerged from the front door of the house. She looked to be in her late sixties, but still in pretty good health.

"Hello there," she called as she started walking down the driveway towards me, "I guess you're wanting to ask about the car?"

"Yes, ma'am!" I said, not bothering to hide my grin, "It's a '69 GTO, right?"

"That would be correct," she replied with a smile. "Glenn, that's my husband, loved that old thing."

"Could I talk to him about buying it?" I asked.

"Well, you could, but you're about fifteen years too late," she said.

"Oh… I'm sorry."

"Sorry?"

"For your loss," I said.

"Don't be," she replied, "He's not dead. I caught him cheating on me with his secretary; got the car as part of the divorce settlement. Bastard deserved it. I'm only selling it 'cause it's such a gas guzzler that I can't afford to drive it anymore."

"Oh, ah, all right, ah, how much are you asking for it?"

"Don't you want to test-drive it first?" she asked, confused.

"No thanks," I said, "It looks like it's in good shape."

"At least look under the hood first," she insisted, "I don't want it breakin' down on you and then you comin' back here trying to sue me for sellin' you a lemon."

"Ma'am, I would never do that," I assured her, "But if you insist…"

A quick look under the hood reinforced my suspicions that the car was in good condition, and once she'd retrieved the keys and started the engine, they were all but confirmed.

"You still want it?" she asked, "If you do, I'd hurry before one of your friends beats you to it." The rest of the team had long since gathered around the GTO, and Scotty, Chris, and Dominique were all eyeing it with varying amounts of jealousy.

"How much?" I asked.

"Well… does nine thousand sound fair?"

"It does indeed," I said, "Will you take a check?"

"I surely will," she replied. A quick trip back to the SUV later and I handed over a check for nine thousand dollars. Money well spent in my opinion. The title for the car was in the glove box, along with every single piece of documentation that had originally come with the car. All it took was one more signature and I was the proud owner of my very own '69 GTO Judge.

"Well, guys, what do you think?" I asked once the previous owner had gone back inside.

"I think you made a good buy," Dominique said.

"It is so freakin' cool!" Scotty exclaimed, "Can I drive it?"

"Yeah, right," I said.

"I think we should definitely start listening to this Doctor Bryson ghost," Jon said.

"Huh?" The rest of the team's faces mirrored my confusion. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Didn't you see the license plate?" he asked. I shook my head. "Come take a look," he said with a grin. I walked around to the back of the Judge, looked down at the license plate, and felt my jaw fall to the pavement.

The plate was a custom vanity plate. It read THEBEAST.


	10. Chapter 10: Too Much Pain

The ride back to the compound took quite a lot longer than I thought it would. It turned out that the lady was right; the Judge really was a gas-guzzler; at highway speed, the gas gauge moved at the same rate as the minute hand on my watch. The source of my fuel-economy woes was the fact that I needed to keep the pedal mashed to the firewall even in fourth gear if I wanted to keep up with everyone else on the road. A 4.33:1 rear differential is great for accelerating down a drag strip, but it sucks if you want to take the car on road trips. The transmission felt real rough and clunky when you shifted it too. Worst of all were the tires; the car was still wearing the original poly-fiberglass redlines, which had absolutely no grip whatsoever. It would do a straight line just fine, but every time I hit a curve, the big car felt like it was driving on ice. Lucky for me, Dominique, who'd insisted on riding with me, had worked in her father's garage when she was in high school, and by the time we arrived at the compound (long after everyone else, I'm embarrassed to admit), she and I had come up with a long list of improvements to make The Beast, as I'd taken to calling it, a much more drivable car.

When we did finally pull into the compound, Chris and Scotty were both waiting for us in the garage. They spent the next hour or so watching me do burnouts down the long driveway, but eventually they got tired of it. Chris headed off to the shooting ranges while Scotty headed to parts unknown. I assumed he was off to find some quiet spot so he could blow something up. When I finally got tired of doing burnouts (and had just about run out of gas), I started reading the documentation that had come with The Beast. Sure enough, it was a genuine 1969 Judge, not a clone, with a big Ram Air IV engine under the hood and two previous owners; the aforementioned Glen and his ex-wife Lydia. Glen, when he'd ordered it, hadn't optioned it up too much; bucket seats, shoulder-strap seat belts, hidden headlights, Rally-II wheels, AM-radio and a tape deck. The only non-stock piece of equipment was a CD Player that Lydia must've mounted under the dash. All that was mine for just nine grand. Man, had I made a really good

"Why am I not surprised that you're still in here?" I looked up from the paperwork to see Dominique striding towards me.

"Hey, I'm a gearhead," I said with a grin, "What can I say?" She laughed, then looked back at The Beast.

"Man, what a sweet find."

"Yeah, thanks to Doctor Bryson."

"Got that right," she said with a smile, "Anyway, I just remembered that I haven't given these to you or Odette yet." She pressed something into my hand. It was our team's patch; a man wearing a Colonial-style three-corner hat holding a Flintlock musket over his head with one hand and a skull with greatly elongated fangs in the other. "What with the wights at the diner and everything last night, it kinda slipped my mind."

"Hey, don't worry about it," I said as I took my patch and slipped it in my pocket.

"You seen Odette?" Dominique asked.

"Nope," I replied, "I've been in here since we got back. I figured she's probably grabbing some lunch in the cafeteria."

"Try dinner."

"Huh?"

"It's just about time for dinner." That explained the sudden hunger pangs that were gripping my stomach.

"Dinner sounds good," I replied, "She's not there?"

"No, and she wasn't at lunch either," Dominique said.

"That's weird," I said, "Maybe try the firing ranges? She's been wanting to practice more with her pistols."

"Checked there twice, no sign of her."

"Did you try her house?" I asked, suddenly feeling more than a little worried.

"Knocked on her door, no answer," Dominique replied, "and before you ask, I tried calling her cell phone; it went straight to voice mail."

"So either it's dead or she turned it off," I said.

"You have any idea where she might've gone?" I shook my head.

"None," I replied, "I haven't really had a chance to explore the compound that much. I'll try her house."

"She wasn't there when I checked," Dominique said.

"She didn't answer the door," I pointed out, "Doesn't mean she's not inside."

The houses were on the other side of the compound from the garage, so it was something of a hike over there. Dominique had wanted to come with me, but her cell had gone off when we were about halfway there. It was Harbinger, so she had to get back to her office, leaving me alone as I trudged towards Odette's small house.

"Odette?" I said as I gently rapped on the door, "Anyone home?" There was no response. I knocked again, a little harder this time. "Odette? Are you in there?" Still nothing. I frowned and pressed my ear against the door. I couldn't hear any noise coming from inside… no, check that. I did hear something. I couldn't make out exactly what it was, but there was definitely someone… or some_thing_… inside the house. "Odette?" I called in again, "Is that you in there?" Again, no answer. "Are you okay?" Nothing. I tried the doorknob, even though I knew the door was locked.

It wasn't; the door swung open at my touch. My hand instinctively moved towards my SIG, the full-sized one, holstered behind my right hip as the door slowly swung open.

"Odette? Are you okay?" I called into the open door. There was no answer, but the sound I'd heard before drifted out into the evening chill. It sounded like… choking? No, I realized after a second, not choking. Crying.

"Odette?" I called again as I slipped inside the house, hand wrapped firmly around my SIG's grip. The crying was coming from the bedroom. The door to the room was open. I slid the SIG from its holster and peered around the doorframe. Odette was sitting on the edge of her bed, her shoulder slumped and shaking with each muffled sob. She was clutching something, a photograph, it looked like, in her hands. The Smith & Wesson 4566 that she carried when Hunting sat on the bed next to her.

"What's wrong?" I asked gently as I slowly walked into the room. She ignored me. Instead, she began glancing between the photo and the pistol.

"I'm sorry," she said, so quietly that I barely heard her.

"Sorry?" I asked, "You didn't do anything…"

"I'm sorry Robert," she said, taking to the picture, "I couldn't… God, I'm so sorry… It should've… should've been me." She again looked towards the pistol. Alarm bells started going off in my head.

"Odette, what are you doing?" I asked as I slowly edged my way towards her, praying she wasn't about to do what I thought she was. She was sitting on the side of the bed closest to the door, and the gun was on her right, so if she went for it there was a chance I could get to it before she did. Now I just needed to remember how to safe the gun. Smith & Wesson 3rd Gens had a magazine safety, didn't they? I couldn't remember. Odette looked at the gun again, then back at the picture, and then my blood froze in my veins.

"I'll see you in a second, Robert." Her hand shot out towards the pistol.


	11. Chapter 11: The Awful Past

"ODETTE NO!" I lunged for her as she snatched up the pistol and raised it up towards her head. As the muzzle touched her temple, I grabbed at the pistol and jammed my finger down on the mag release. Odette closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. My shoulders slumped in relief; I'd been right about the magazine disconnect.

Odette's eyes snapped open as the magazine slipped from her bed and clattered to the floor. She lowered the pistol and stared at it for a moment, mystified, then looked at me, as if she'd just now noticed I was there. Her eyes suddenly filled with burning anger.

"You BASTARD!" she screeched, lunging at me and swinging wildly. I did my best to ward off her blows, but a few managed to connect. Damn, she had a mean left.

"Hey! Knock it off!" I said, "Knock it OFF!" I managed to grab her wrists and shove her away. A second later, she broke down in tears again.

"You bastard," she said between sobs, "You bastard."

"What on earth were you thinking?" I asked. There was no anger in my voice; just pure disbelief and horror.

"You bastard, why did you stop me?" she asked, "Why won't you let me end it?"

"End what?"

"The hurt," she sobbed, "It hurts so bad…"

"What?" I asked, "What hurts?"

"It's not… not your problem."

"I'm making it my problem," I told her, "What happened? Was it… Robert?" Her shoulders began shaking as she nodded. "What did he do to you?" I asked.

"He…" she sniffed, "He died."

"Oh. Oh God. Odette, I am so sorry," I said.

"You… you didn't kill him," she sobbed, "I did." That almost floored me.

"What?" I asked, "What happened?"

"I… He…" she stammered, "We were out on a lake, in that stupid little rowboat of his. He… he pulled… pulled the ring out of his pocket… and… and asked me…" She paused, "Then something hit the boat and knocked us into the water. I felt… something grab me…"

"The naga," I said. She nodded.

"It… it grabbed me… opened its mouth… oh God, the teeth… it… it tried to eat me… then Robert… Robert grabbed it… pulled it off of me… it let go, and I… I climbed back into the boat. I grabbed an oar… and started hitting it… just hitting it, so it would let go… let go of Robert. But then… the oar broke. So I started… started stabbing at it… just stabbing, like it was a harpoon. It let go… and sank… and I pulled Robert back into the boat. He… oh God!... he had a… the naga had speared him… with one of his spines… through the leg… he… he started screaming… thrashing around… and then, he… he… I… I didn't… didn't even get… get to tell him… tell him yes." She buried her face in her hands as she finally broke down and began weeping uncontrollably.

I don't know why I pulled her into my arms; instinct, I guess. Whatever the reason, I pulled her close to me.

"I know," I said after what felt like hours, "I know how much it hurts. I know what it feels like."

"How could you know?" she asked, "How can anyone know?"

"Because I've been there too," I confessed.

"You killed someone you loved?"

"I couldn't save someone I loved." She sniffed, then picked her head from her hands and looked at me.

"Who?"

"My… it was my brother," I said. I took a deep breath to steel myself before I started the story.

"It was my junior year of college, a month before I turned twenty-one. I'd gotten a call earlier from my Mom, saying she had to go over to Chad's apartment to help with something. Eight o'clock that night, I'm in my bedroom trying to decide on what my first drink was going to be when the phone rings. It's Mom; she said that Matt and I had to get our butts over to my Chad's apartment right away.

"It turned out he was drunk, and raving about how he was going to kill himself. Mom had spent the last six hours trying to talk him out of it, but she hadn't gotten anywhere, so she called us. She hadn't meant for me to come; the message was just for Matt. There wasn't much he could do, though, so I tried talking him down. I… I told him how much I loved him, how much we all loved him, and how screwed up everyone's lives would get if he did go ahead and kill himself. It took four hours… God, that was the longest four hours of my life… and I finally, _finally_ thought I was getting through to him... but then…

"I don't know what set him off. All of the sudden, he got real angry and ran up to his bedroom, locked the door. We'd already called 911, they had a police car standing by, but by the time they got there and managed to break the door down… he'd already… he hung himself."

Now it was my turn to choke back tears. Odette just stared at me, trying to process it all.

"And the truth of it is, I can't really blame him. We all had a rough time growing up. Hell, that's the understatement of the century. Our father was a drunk who used to beat the shit out of his wife and kids. Chad was his favorite punching bag. Mom finally had enough and left the bastard. Judge gave Mom full custody of all of us, thank God, but the damage was already done. The son of a bitch wiped out our savings; we had to live in a one-bedroom apartment until Mom met Matt, my stepfather, and they got married. But even that didn't heal everything. See, at the divorce hearing, Chad told the judge what our father did to us, and the son of a bitch publicly disowned him for it. Called him a lying bastard, said that no son of his would do such a thing. Told Chad that he was dead to him. Chad never recovered from that. It really messed him up in the head. I found out after he died that Chad became a full-blown alcoholic at age 16. Given what the son of a bitch did to all of us, it's a miracle that Mom and my little brothers are still relatively normal, but even they have issues sometimes." Tears were streaming silently down my cheeks by this point; my soul felt once again like it had been torn from my body. The two of us sat in silence on the edge of the bed for a long time.

"That's why you don't drink," Odette said slowly. I nodded.

"I'm scared to death that I'll wind up like my father," I admitted.

"I… I'm so sorry," she said after a moment.

"For what?" I asked, "For me having a drunk kid-beater for a father, or for almost making me relive the worst night of my life?"

"I… I'm sorry… but it… it hurts so much!"

"I know, but suicide isn't the answer," I said, "It just causes more pain. Maybe not for you, but for the people who care about you."

"No one cares about me," Odette said as tears began falling from her eyes again.

"I care about you," I said, "And so does the rest of the Team. Look, I know it hurts, but you cannot blame yourself for what happened to Robert. You had, what? Four minutes to try and save him. I had four _hours_ to try and save Chad, and I couldn't stop him. You can't blame yourself, and you can't keep it all bottled up inside. Believe me; I did, and I almost lost my mind."

"But how… how can I…"

"Talk to Dominique," I said, "Or talk to me. I'll always be there if you need me. I swear it, Odette, night or day, no matter what's going on, if you need to someone to talk to, if you need a shoulder to cry on, if you need _anything_, you come and find me, okay?"

"Okay," she nodded, sniffling.

"But I want you to promise me, _promise me_, that you will not ever try this again."

"I promise," she mumbled.

"No, look me in the eye, look me square in the eye, and promise me you will never try to kill yourself again." She screwed her eyes shut for a moment, took a few very deep breaths, then opened her eyes and looked square into mine.

"I promise, Steve," she said, "I promise I won't try to kill myself again."

"Thanks," I said, and the knot that my guts had twisted themselves into finally began to ease, "Thank you so much." For a long moment, we just sat there, on her bed, looking at each other, tears trickling down both of our cheeks. Odette abruptly stood up, and I started to freak out, but she just walked over to her dresser and retrieved a box of tissues.

"Thanks," I said as she offered me one. We wiped our eyes, blew our noses. I felt like I needed to throw up.

"You know something," I said, "It's been five years, and you're only the third person I've told that story to. I mean, all of my friends knew that my father left us and they knew Chad died, but none of them ever got the full story."

"Only the third?" she asked, "Who where the other two?"

"Well, the first was the psychologist Mom and Matt sent me to right after Chad's… death. The second was one of my college professors, he found out after the pshrink didn't work and I had a complete emotional breakdown in his class. Doctor Young; he was the one that really helped me get through it."

"It never stops hurting, does it?" she asked

"No," I admitted, "not completely. It does get easier, though. I promise you, it does get easier. And like I said, if it ever gets too much to bear, _call me_, no matter what time it is or what's going on, I promise that I will be there if you need me."

"Thank you," she whispered. Then the room was filled with an inhuman growl.

"Hungry?" I asked as Odette grabbed at her stomach.

"Yeah," she said, trying her best not to laugh with embarrassment.

"I think they're still having dinner over in the cafeteria. Why don't you come with me?"

"Okay," she said. We stood up and I headed for the door.

I froze as I head a sharp _clack_ and whirled around to see Odette loading the magazine back into her Smith & Wesson.

"Don't freak out," she said as she slipped the pistol into her cross-draw holster, "I promised you, remember?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry," I said as we began heading for the door again, "Plus, it wouldn't do you much good to break it. I know someone on the other side, remember? He'd make your death absolutely miserable.

"What? Doctor Bryson?" she asked as we headed outside, "I thought he was your pastor, a man of God."

"Yeah, but he was also a huge prankster," I said, unable to keep down a big grin.

"Oh yeah right," she replied.

"No, I'm serious. One time, when I was in grade school, he lead the church's Youth Retreat. We were at a camp site up in New York, and he—"

My voice caught in my throat as an unearthly shriek shattered the air around us.


	12. Chapter 12: Incoming!

"GET DOWN!" Odette screamed in my ear as she roughly shoved me to the ground. Not a second later I felt _something_ whoosh through the air above us. My SIG was out of the holster before the echo of the screech had faded. I looked up to see a dozen shapes circling in the air high above us. In the silhouette of the full moon, they looked like women with giant wings.

"Harpies!" Odette and I shouted at the same time.

"Move!" I shouted. She turned to run back to her house, but I grabbed her arm, stopping her. "You have any guns in there?" I asked. To my disbelief she shook her head no.

"I put the UMP back in the armory."

"Okay," I said, "My house then… heads up!" I snapped my pistol up and dumped the magazine into the harpy that had swooped down towards us. It fell from its smooth dive like a marionette with cut strings. Angry shrieks pierced the sky as the rest of the harpies turned as one and dove for us.

"Oh shit!" Odette said, "MOVE!" I needed no second bidding and tore after her towards my front door.

"Steve, hurry! Odette said as she started firing her big Smith & Wesson at the incoming Harpies. After a few terrifying seconds, I found the keys, pulled them from my pocket, and began desperately fumbling for the right one.

"Steve…" Odette said as her pistol ran dry. She dropped the mag and went for a fresh one, "any time now would be really good!" I glanced over my shoulder and nearly dropped the keychain; the harpies were less than a hundred feet from us and closing fast. At that moment, her cell phone started ringing. Her ringtone, I'm not even kidding, was _Ride of the Vaklyries_.

"Got it!" I shouted as I jammed the appropriate key into the lock. We barreled into the house a second later, then both turned and slammed the door shut. I threw the deadbolt home. A second later, the whole house shook as at least one harpy slammed into the door at full speed.

"In here!" I said and took off towards the bedroom. "And answer the phone!" Odette snatched the phone from her pocket as I pulled a footlocker out from under my bed. Inside were my Crusader Partisan, M1 Garand, Stoeger Coach Gun, Springfield 1911, Kel-Tec PF-9, SIG P6, and my revolver collection. The FAL and Mossberg were still locked in the trunk of the GTO, so these would have to do. I half-listened to the conversation as I set about loading each of the weapons and laying them out on the floor.

"Hello?... Dominique thank God! I'm at Steve's… yes, harpies. We're inside, I think we're… yes, Steve's with me… yeah… we're safe for right now, I think… okay… will do." She hung up the phone and turned to me. "The rest of the team's on the way."

"Thank God," I said. I picked up the Partisan and handed it to her, "You know how to run one of these?" She nodded. "Good." I handed her a set of electronic earmuffs from the footlocker. She put them on and shouldered the rifle. I put my MHI-issue plugs in my ears and picked up the Garand. Through the embedded speakers, I suddenly heard a scratching, thumping sound coming from above us. They were on the roof. I pointed to the ceiling and mimed crawling. Odette nodded and aimed her rifle up at the roof. For several terrifying minutes, the sounds continued. Then, just as suddenly as they'd started, they ceased.

"What do you think?" Odette asked me, eyes still on the ceiling, "are they gone?"

"Doubt it," I replied. As if on cue, the window on the far side of the room exploded inward. We swung around and fired into the harpy that was already halfway into the room. I ripped through the eight-round en-bloc clip so fast it seemed like the rifle was firing full auto; before I knew it the clip had ejected from the gun and the bolt was locked back. I quick reached back into the footlocker for another clip, reloaded, and brought the rifle back up, only to see the shooting had stopped. The harpy, or at least what was left of it, hung limply half-in and half-out of the window. Its head and a bit of its torso were gone; torn to shreds by five .30-06 FMJs and about a dozen .223 ballistic tips. I realized that my ears were ringing something terrible; in the close quarters of my bedroom, the electronic earplugs couldn't block out all of the incredibly loud gunfire.

The headless harpy was suddenly pulled from the window and two of its friends appeared in its place. We opened up on them. Black blood splattered all over the room. Our guns ran dry at the same time. Odette dropped her mag and went fishing for a reload while I dropped the Garand and snatched up the Stoeger. No sooner had the stock touched my shoulder than I dumped both barrels into the window. A harpy's head disappeared in a black mist and it fell limp into the room.

Pretty much all of ancient mythology portrays the harpy as a beautiful woman with large, graceful, feathery wings. Sort of like an angel, only it eats people. Yeah, right; they're really ugly, demonic-looking hags with blue-grey skin and big leathery bat wings. The old _Jason and the Argonauts_ movie gets its depiction of the creature pretty close to reality, I'm pretty sure Ray Harryhausen was a Hunter at some point.

I dropped the Stoeger and started to reach for the Garand when three more harpies started to climb through the window. I immediately went for the 1911 and dumped the magazine into the window. They seemed to hesitate, but managed to shrug off the hits and continued to pull themselves through. I dropped the big pistol and started to feel around for another gun when the room filled with noise and the harpies' heads exploded. Odette had found another PMag.

"We can't stay here!" Odette shouted.

"No kidding!" Even with electronic ear protection, we could barely hear each other.

"Where's your truck?"

"In the garage!" Each house had an attached garage, but they were only big enough for one vehicle, hence the reason why The Beast – and my guns – were in the motor pool. "You think we should make for it?"

"You have a better idea?" she asked as another harpy started to poke through the window. She dumped the rest of the magazine into it. I quick handed her another.

"Nope. Cover me." I quick pulled a half-dozen PMags from the footlocker and handed them to Odette. She stuffed them in her pockets as I reloaded the Garand and Coach Gun and stuffed my pockets with as many en-bloc clips and shotgun shells as I could carry. "Okay, move!"

"Wait, what about your SIG?"

"It's… oh shit." It wasn't in my holster. I must've dropped it as we were coming through the door. I quick checked the back of my waist and sighed with relief as my fingers brushed my backup 220 Compact. "I'm good, let's go!" Odette sprinted for the garage as I snapped up the Garand and fired it into the harpy that was almost through the window. It went down hard just like its friends. By now, the inside of my bedroom was covered in black spatter. I turned to follow her a second later, sprinting out of the bedroom and into the hall. I dashed into the garage and was halfway around to the driver's side door when I looked in the cab and stopped dead in my tracks.

Odette wasn't in the truck.

A shriek filled the garage. I whirled around, snapped up the Garand, leveled it straight at… a tool chest?

"Help me!" I glanced over and saw Odette with her shoulder braced against the side of the chest. The metal case shrieked in protest as Odette tried to shove it across the concrete. Right away I figured out what she was trying to do. I ran over, set the Garand down, and threw my weight against the heavy metal chest, helping Odette to slide it in front of the door. It would buy us a minute. The tool chest rocked as a harpy slammed into the other side of the door. A minute, if we were lucky. I retrieved my rifle as Odette clambered into the truck. I pulled myself up into the cab a second later, jammed the keys in the ignition. The big V8 caught on the first turn. I let out a whoop of delight and slammed the transmission into reverse.

"Hang on!" I shouted.

"What? WhyOMIGODWHATAREYOUDOING!" Odette screamed as I floored the gas and sent the truck plowing through the closed garage door. The cab rocked as debris bounced off of it.

"Are you crazYIEEEE!" She screamed again as I snapped the truck into a J-turn, slammed on the brakes, shifted into Drive, and floored it again. Odette opened her mouth to yell at me, but something slammed into the back of the truck and cut her off. We both turned to see a Harpy standing in the bed of the truck. Odette grabbed the Partisan from the floor, shoved it through the rear window, and pumped five rounds into its chest. The creature staggered back a step and then was thrown from the bed as we lurched over a bump.

"Sorry," she said, wincing as pieces of safety glass fell from the rifle's handguard.

"Don't worry about itWOAH!" I shouted as another Harpy landed on the front of the truck. Its claws gouged into the hood, leaving nasty looking tears in the metal. It lunged at us, destroying the windshield with a powerful swipe, missing us by inches. I grabbed the Coach Gun from between the seats, shoved it through the open windshield, pressing the twin muzzles into the creature's nose. The harpy's eyes crossed, then got wide as dinner plates as it realized what was about to happen. A second later, I pulled both triggers. We were instantly splattered with gore as the harpy's skull exploded. A quick flick of the steering wheel sent the headless harpy sailing from the truck. I glanced over at Odette. Her face was covered in black blood, and I could see bits of harpy skull and brains in her hair.

"You enjoy doing that, didn't you?" she asked.

"Getting you covered in blood and guts?" I asked, "No, of course not!"

"I meant blowing that thing's head off with the shotgun," she replied with a slight grin, "You seem to do that an awful lot."

"Yeah," I replied with a smile of my own, "I guess so…" A flash of motion in the rearview mirror grabbed my attention for a moment. My eyes must've gotten as wide as that last harpy's because Odette turned to look out the back of the cab.

"GET DOWN!" we screamed as one. We both grabbed each other and pulled ourselves under the dash an instant before something _huge_ hit and tore the roof of the cab off all the way down to the base of the windshield.

"That's… that's a gargoyle!" I said as we watched the gigantic creature climb into the night sky.

"Yeah, I can see that," Odette replied. She grabbed the Garand, braced it against her shoulder, and loosed a round at the giant stone creature. She fired again a second later, then dropped the rifle.

"Need a clip?" I asked.

"No," she said. Her words were laced with pain. I saw her holder her shoulder with one hand and cradling her jaw with the other. She must've gotten hit by the big rifle's stock during recoil. I winced in sympathy; that thing kicks like a moose. The enormous living statue wheeled around in the sky, impossibly fast, before swooping back towards us. "DUCK!" Odette screamed in my ear. I couldn't think of a better idea. At the last second, I swerved right to avoid those massive claws. I almost made it; the creature's talons hit the rear quarter of the truck. The big machine snapped left like a whip and rolled over on its side. We spun across the asphalt, totally out of control, the side of my head inches from the asphalt. All we could do was hold on and pray that we didn't turn over completely. If that happened, we'd be hamburger. After the most terrifying twenty seconds of my life, the truck finally stopped. For a few seconds, we both just sat there, staring straight ahead into space, unable to believe we'd survived. I recovered first.

"You okay?" I asked Odette.

"Yeah," she winced, "Nice driving." She undid her seatbelt and tumbled in top of me. "Oh Lord!" I followed her gaze and felt the blood in my veins freeze. The gargoyle was starting to dive right at us.

"Move!" I shouted to Odette. She scrambled to her feet and sprinted away from the truck. I undid my seatbelt and lunged out of the seat. Or at least, tried to. I looked down towards my leg and my stomach tied itself into a knot. My leg was stuck under the dashboard. I twisted around, trying to work my way free, but it was no good. The door must've crumpled inward when the truck rolled. My leg was firmly pinned in place. I lunged forward again, trying to pull myself free. Nothing. I glanced up again. The gargoyle was headed right for me. I started thrashing around, desperate to tear myself loose. Neither the dash, the door, nor my leg budged. Then I heard and felt something pop in my knee, and I screamed as fire raced up and down my leg. The gargoyle swooped closer. I heard Odette scream my name. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her start to run back towards me. She'd never make it in time.

In sheer desperation, I reached behind my back and pulled the P220 Compact from my SOB rig. Even as I thumbed the hammer back, I knew it would be useless; gargoyles can only be stopped by heavy artillery and high explosives. At the very least, bring a .50 BMG if you're trying to kill one. For all the good my measly .45 ACP would do, I might as well be shooting spitballs at it. I lined the sights up square on the bridge of the stone nose, said a silent prayer, and pulled the trigger. The gun rocked back in my hand. There would be no time for a second shot.

The gargoyle's head exploded.

As the stone behemoth fell from the sky, all I could do was stare in amazed bewilderment at my little SIG. _What the f _

A ferocious crash snapped me back to reality and I looked up to see the gargoyle smashing into the pavement. Its forward momentum not totally spent, it slid down the asphalt, carving a deep trench as it went. It took a second for me to realize that the multi-ton behemoth was heading straight for the truck.

I tried to lurch out of my seat again and bit back a scream as pain lanced through my leg. I yanked again, my eyes watering. Ignoring the pain, I bent down and began desperately twisting my leg, my ankle, trying anything and everything to break myself free. The thundering roar of granite tearing through asphalt and dirt hammered my ears. I looked up and almost screamed. The dead gargoyle was less than twenty feet from me. I was dead.

A moment later, I noticed two things. Firstly, everything was silent. Secondly, I wasn't dead. I slowly inched my eyes open. The gargoyle had ground to a halt less than two feet from the truck.

"STEVE!" I looked over just as Odette all but ran right into me. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I replied, ignoring the painful throbbing in my knee, "That was one hell of a spitball."

"Why didn't you run?" she asked.

"I'm stuck," I said, indicating my trapped leg.

"You guys okay?" I looked over and saw Scotty jog around the back of the truck. A Milkor MGL grenade launcher hung from a sling across his chest, smoke rising lazily from the muzzle.

"So much for the spitball," I muttered.

"What?" Odette asked.

"Nevermind. Could someone find a crowbar or something and get me out of here?"

Once Jon and Chris had found a giant pry bar and freed my leg, the team regrouped in the main building's conference room. Shannon, it turned out, was the team's medic as well as our intelligence specialist. She looked over my knee for a few minutes, pronounced it a bad sprain, wrapped it in a big ACE bandage, then wrapped the whole thing with bags of ice. I'd be going to the ER first thing in the morning to get it checked out. Until then, I was stuck, along with Odette, getting my brain picked by Dominique and the rest of the team.

"You two have been here for forty-eight hours," Dominique said, "and in that time, we've been ambushed by monsters three times. Why? Cooper, any ideas?"

"I have no idea," I replied, "Doctor Bryson won't tell me anything, and I've told you all I know about my dream. Guys, I'm sorry, but I really have no clue."

"Odette?" Dominique asked. Odette just shook her head and shrugged. She didn't know anything.

"You really think someone's targeting us?" she asked.

"It would appear that way," Dominique replied.

"It could be just a random attack," I suggested, "Monsters hitting MHI to get back at the organization in general."

"That's highly unlikely," Dominique said.

"She's right," Shannon said before either Odette or I could argue, "I'll check with Albert Lee in Alabama, but as far as I know, there's only been one direct attack on any MHI compound in over a century, actually happened five years ago."

"The Lord of Shadows," Dominique said, wincing at the memories. "Damn, that was a bad night."

"Lord of Shadows?" I asked. That sounded like a villain from a bad 50's B-grade horror movie. "What'd he want?"

"Destroy MHI to get in the good graces of the Old Ones," Shannon said. "But don't forget, monsters have come after specific Hunters in the past."

"True," Dominique said, "So I guess the question is who have you two pissed off recently?"

"No one," Odette replied, "I didn't even know monsters existed until… the Naga… and I didn't have any more encounters with them until the other night."

"Same here," I replied, "And I'm pretty sure none of my relatives or ancestors were Hunters."

"I don't think any of mine were either," Odette added.

"They weren't," Dominique said, "we've checked; none of you are related in any way, shape, or form to past Hunters." Well, that was a relief.

"So why are they coming after us?" I asked.

"Actually, we're fairly certain they just want you," Dominique said.

"Me? How can you be sure?"

"Well," Shannon said, "Nagas are only semi-sentient. They have limited ability to reason, but they don't have any written or spoken language. No higher thought processes like humans. Now vampires, on the other hand, are highly intelligent, and we know of multiple instances where they held grudges against humans."

"Speaking of which," Dominique interrupted, "any luck on tracing the family history of Steve's vampire?"

"Not so far," she replied, "I… ah… I actually haven't been able to find any record of the attack." That got everyone's attention. "It's not in the MCB Database."

"That makes no sense," Dominique said, "The Feds talked to him about it, there are police reports, you're sure it's not there?"

"If it's there, I haven't been able to find it," Shannon said.

"Well…" Dominique said after a moment's thought, "Keep looking. Steve'll help you once he gets back from the hospital.

"What?"

"With that leg, you're not going to be Hunting for a while," Dominique said. "No argument. You're useless to us in the field right now, and we need to know what this thing is and why it's after you. We need you here."

"Okay, fine," I fumed. Dominique was my boss. She could make me ride a desk, but she couldn't make me like it.

"Okay, that's settled. Anything else?"

"Actually…" I said hesitantly. I glanced over at Odette. She didn't meet my gaze; her eyes fell instead to the floor. "Dominique, can Odette and I talk to you? In private?"


	13. Chapter 13: Dead Man Walking?

The thundering roar of a V8 echoed in my ears. I was in The Beast, tearing down the Ben Franklin Parkway, weaving in and out of piles of half-eaten corpses. My FAL and Katana were sitting in the passenger seat next to me. The Mossberg and Wakazashi were crossed over my back, digging uncomfortably into my shoulders as the car seat pressed them into my back. The SIG P220 was in its drop leg on my thigh; its little brother was in a shoulder rig under my left armpit. Their cousin, the P6, rode inside my left ankle; the Kel-Tec was strapped inside my right ankle. My armor was covered in spare magazines, buckshot shells and slugs, and a half-dozen sharpened white-oak stakes.

Through the windshield, I could see the massive gargoyle swoop through the night sky, then nose over into a dive and crash through the roof of the Art Museum. I skidded to a halt in front of the Rocky Steps, grabbed my rifle and sword, and leapt from the GTO. I raced up the steps as I fumbled to attack the katana's scabbard to my belt with one hand. I burst through the doors and snapped the FAL up, sweeping the lobby for threats. It was empty. I slowly made my way up the stairs, instinctively working my way towards the Medieval Weapons & Armor room.

The evil man was waiting for me. This time, though, he was different. This time, I could see his face. I was stunned. He was so young; maybe a year or two older than me. An evil grin spread across his cheeks as a demonic laughter filled the room. I snapped my FAL up and dumped the full thirty-round magazine into him as fast as I could fire. He staggered back a bit but didn't go down. I dropped the rifle, unslung the Mossberg, and pumped all eight shells into him so fast it sounded like the shotgun was going full-auto. He was still standing. I drew my full-size SIG, emptied it, drew the compact, emptied it. He barely flinched. I dropped into a crouch, drew both the P6 and the Kel-Tec, lurched to my feet, and emptied both pistols at once like an Old West cowboy. He laughed it off. I let the pistols fall away and pulled my swords from my scabbard. The black basket-hilt sword appeared in his hands. I charged, swinging the katana at him. He dodged and parried me with superhuman speed. We fought for what felt like hours, and I didn't touch him. I didn't even come close. And the bastard was holding back. I could tell.

Then he neatly flicked my blades aside and drove his sword into my left calf. I screamed as fire raced up my leg and I went down hard. I tried to strike at him again, but he deftly parried me and plunged the tip of his sword into my right shoulder. The katana fell from my numb hand. He drove his boot into my chest, sending me sprawling across the marble floor. He was on top of me an instant later, the tip of his blade inches from my throat. I heard Odette scream my name.

My eyes snapped open and I lurched upright. My breath came in ragged gasps as I glanced around wildly, trying desperately to figure out where I was. I wasn't in my bedroom, where the hell… oh. I slumped back onto the sofa as the events of the last 24 hours me rushing back to me.

Dominique had taken the news about Odette's suicide attempt better than either of us had thought. She'd actually blamed herself in part for it; being at Lake Dunmore had made Odette flash back to the day Robert was killed. Earl had told her Odette was still working to overcome her grief, but she'd sent her out to the lake anyway. Even so, she'd still put Odette on the inactive roster, so the two of us would be working the archives with Shannon for the time being.

I'd spent all of the next morning with Jon in the ER waiting to get my leg looked at. It turned out that I'd twisted my knee pretty badly, but luckily I hadn't torn any tendons or ligaments in the process. Unfortunately, I'd need to keep it wrapped and in a brace for a week or so, so I'd be off Hunting for a little while.

More annoying was the fact that my little trip to the hospital had literally taken all day; by the time Jon and I made it back to the compound, dinner time had long since past. To make my day even better, we learned that Dominique had decided that, given the fact that some really powerful undead appeared to be targeting us, our houses weren't secure enough, so she'd ordered us to move into small dorm suites in the compound's main building. Ordinarily this wouldn't bother me all that much, but I'd just finished unpacking my stuff, and now I had to pack it all up, carry it over to the main building, and then unpack it all over again. Sure, the rest of the team helped out (okay, they actually did most of it), but it was still a royal pain in the ass. Then, once I'd gotten all settled in and was ready for bed, Odette knocked on my door. She looked pretty distraught, and I knew right that Robert was on her mind again. She told me she didn't want to be alone, so I offered to keep her company and spend the night.

I slept on the couch. Get your mind out of the gutter.

So that's where I found myself when I awoke from my nightmare; laying on an uncomfortable couch in Odette's room. Jeez, what a waste of a day that had

_**BOOM!**_

The blast jolted me clear off the sofa. I recognized the sound in a heartbeat: a .45 automatic. It had come from Odette's bedroom.

"NOOOOOOOO!" I was on my feet in an instant, hobbling towards the bedroom door as fast as my messed-up leg and crutches would carry me. Praying that I was wrong, hoping against hope that I wouldn't find what I knew had to be waiting for me, I lurched through the door.

The blow sent me sprawling. My crutches skittered across the linoleum floor out of my grasp. I kicked out at the thing with my good leg and was rewarded by an impact and a loud _oomph!_. The creature landed next to me. I twisted around and lurched away, grabbing at one of the crutches. My fingers wrapped around the cold metal. I turned back, winding up for the strike.

And found myself nose to muzzle with a big .45 Smith & Wesson automatic.

"Steve?" Odette asked, "Jeez! I almost shot you! What the hell are you doing?"

"You're alive!" I was stunned. "But… but… but…"

"But what?"

"But I just… I just heard you…"

"Heard me do what?"

"Uh…" I mimed pointing a pistol at my head and pulling the trigger. "That."

"What?" she exclaimed. "Why… how could you even think that?" There was no mistaking the hurt in her voice. "I promised you I wouldn't, remember?"

"But… but I heard the shot."

"Shot? What sh- oh. Oh God." She started laughing. I started to get mad until I realized she wasn't laughing at me. She was laughing with relief. "Oh God, Steve, I'm so sorry! I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to bother you, so I turned on the TV and started flicking through the channels. You just heard Tom Cruise finishing off some random thug."

For a long moment, I just stared at her, trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened. Then I started laughing. Soon Odette was laughing too. We just lay there on the floor for a minute, laughing our fool heads off at what fools we'd both just been. Then when our sides hurt too much to laugh, Odette stood up and helped me to my feet.

"I'm sorry I scared you," she said as she handed me my other crutch.

"Hey, I'm sorry I knocked you down and tried to beat you to death."

"I'm sorry I almost shot you," she replied.

"Okay, we're both sorry," I said with a chuckle. That got her laughing again too. God, what a beautiful sound. She walked over to her bed, sat down, and motioned for me to join her. I hobbled over and flopped down next to her. Actually, I'd tried to just sit down politely, but my leg brace screwed that attempt up big time.

"You'd have liked him," she said absently.

"Who?"

"Robert. You and he have a lot in common."

"Really? How so?"

"You two both loved those old hot rod cars," Odette replied. "Robert and his father restored one while he was in high school."

"You're kidding! What kind?"

"Ah… it was a… an old Chevrolet. A… Chevel? Something like that…"

"Chevelle?" I asked excitedly.

"Yeah, yeah that was it."

"What year?"

"Not the same as your Pontiac. 1970, I think."

"Dayum! The '70's were the best of the Chevelles."

"Robert used to say the same thing." She glanced down towards her lap, and I noticed she was holding the picture again.

"Is that him?" I asked. The picture was of Odette and a young, handsome man standing in front of Pizzeria Uno in downtown Chicago. Odd, he looked kind of familiar…

"Yep. My father took that last summer, when we'd both graduated from college. He… ah… the lake… happened a week later."

"Oh," was all I could think to say. "I… I'm sorry."

"You didn't kill him."

"And neither did you," I reminded her. She nodded.

"You know… I really miss him." A single tear slid down her cheek.

"I know," I said, "I know." Where had I seen that face before… oh. Oh no.

For a long moment, we just sat there, staring at the photo. Then Odette abruptly reached over and placed it on her nightstand.

"We'd better get some sleep," she said, "It's gonna be a long day tomorrow."

"Yeah," I said absently as I awkwardly slid off the bed and got to my feet, "Yeah."

"Thanks," she said.

"For what?"

"For being there."

"Oh," I replied, "You're welcome. Good night."

"Good night."

I hobbled back into the living room and awkwardly lowered myself back onto the couch. Sleep didn't come for a long time. I couldn't believe what I'd seen. I had to have been wrong. It had to be a mistake There was no way it could be possible. But it was, and I knew it.

The face in the photograph, Robert's face, was the same face I'd seen in my dream.


	14. Chapter 14: Here Comes The Big Boss

Sleep eluded me. I was still trying to come to terms with what I'd discovered. Odette's dead fiancé was the threat to our team. I couldn't believe it. I knew that was stupid. After all, I'd killed a vampire single-handedly just taken a job fighting other creatures that supposedly only existed in horror movies, so weird-crazy stuff shouldn't phase me anymore. But even so, a dead boyfriend come back to kill the man that he thought had stolen the woman he loved? That sounded like one of those God-awful Hallmark Movies that my mother loved so much. Okay, maybe a Hallmark Movie directed by Sam Raimi, but still…

But could it really be that simple? If he just wanted Odette back, why not just tell her he was still alive, or undead or whatever? If he just watched her for ten minutes he'd figure out she was still in love with him and, more importantly, had absolutely no feelings for me whatsoever, so he'd have no reason to send his minions to kill me. I mean, sure, I'd admit that I had a serious crush on her, but I would never try and come between her and Robert. Of course, Robert was now undead, so that meant he was fair game for MHI. That, and he was trying to kill us. Wait, maybe that was why he was trying to kill us; he knew we'd think he was fair game, and the only way he could get Odette back was to take the rest of us out. Wait, that made no sense. He'd have to eliminate the entire company in order to do that. But then again, he did seem to be some high-level undead, so maybe that would be possible…

Of course, this all rested on the assumption that Robert was, in fact, the undead creature that was hunting us. And you know what they say about assumption: it makes an ASS out of U and… uh… UMPTION? Yeah, my brain doesn't work so great when it doesn't get sleep.

I don't know when I finally passed out, or how long I slept, but the next thing I remembered was someone pounding on the suite's door yelling for Odette to get up, get dressed quick, and meet down in the archives. The voice sounded like Scotty. I heard Odette crawl out of bed, so I decided to make a discreet exit. Lucky for me, the hallway was empty as I quickly hobbled next door to my room. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and then set about trying to get my leg brace back on. It was an awkward contraption and I was still getting the hang of getting it on and off. I tried to be quick about it, but the thing still took a while for me to get on; by the time I managed to hobble down to the archives, the rest of the team was there waiting for me.

"Glad you've finally decided to join us, Cooper." I just about jumped out of my skin and then fell off my crutches as I whirled around to find the owner of the deep, gravelly voice. Sure enough, Earl Harbinger himself was leaning against the door frame, an unlit cigarette hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth. "Damn," he continued, eyeing my brace, "Dominique wasn't kiddin' when she said you screwed your leg up."

"Uh… Mr. Harbinger! Hello!" I stammered, "I… uh… thought you were still in Austria." I couldn't explain exactly what it was, but something about Earl really creeped me out.

"The lyndworm turned out to be a prank," Earl explained, "Stupid college kids, damn near got themselves shot for it. And for God sakes Cooper, it's Earl."

"Uh… sorry Earl," I said quickly, "won't happen again."

"Yeah, right. Anyhow, Dominique tells us you've been having some freaky dreams. Care to fill in the details?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Well, ah, they start off with me… wait, what do you mean 'us'?"

"That would be him plus the two of us," a woman's voice said. I looked back over at the rest the team and noticed, to my further surprise, Owen and Julie Pitt. Julie was sitting on Shannon's desk, Owen was standing behind her. "Care to join us, Earl?" she asked.

"Can't refuse a lady," Earl said with a chuckle, then strolled over to the rest of the group. "So, Cooper. Dreams. Spill. Now."

I once again related the events of both dreams to the assembled Hunters. The reactions of the three newcomers were surprising. Earl just stood there, absorbing everything; Owen leaned back against the wall with his arms crossed, nodding occasionally, and Julie produced a small notebook and pencil from somewhere and began jotting things down. She'd interrupt me every so often to ask a question, then she'd write down my answer in her notebook and signal me to continue.

"So," she said when I'd finally finished, "you never saw this thing's face?"

"No," I replied, suddenly finding myself unable to look anywhere near Odette.

"In either dream?"

"No." Earl frowned. I could tell that he knew I was lying.

"Half-eaten corpses," Owen mused, "Zombies?"

"Sounds like it," Julie agreed, "Big outbreak too from what he described. We should probably alert the authorities in Philadelphia, let them know they might be facing a potential outbreak."

"Don't bother," Earl said, "Philly's a lost cause. Leave it to the zombies. Let 'em have Jersey too; country'll be better off."

"Earl!" Julie, Dominique, and Shannon all shouted at him. The men just chuckled.

"What?" he asked, "I was just sayin'…"

"I'll call Philly," Julie said, "seeing as how I'm one of only three mature adults in the room."

"Now wait a second!" Owen said, "I wasn't agreeing with him! I was laughing at how the three of you "

"Owen, dear, you're a terrible liar," Julie said sweetly.

"But I "

"Owen." Her sweet voice was now laced with ever so much venom.

"Okay, fine," Owen said before lapsing into a sulk. "What about this evil man? You thinking vampire?"

"Sounds like it," Earl said, "You guys have been attacked by, what now? Wights, harpies, and a gargoyle?"

"That's everything," Dominique confirmed. "Last time I checked, only vamps had the power to control that many monsters."

"That's right," Julie agreed, "and it would have to be a pretty high-level one too. Probably a Master." That elicited a series of curses from the group. I joined in too; Master Vampires are the absolute toughest of all the undead to kill, as in empty an entire magazine into them and they don't even flinch tough, which fit in perfectly with what I'd seen in my dreams.

"Still, it makes sense," Owen said, "I mean, Steve did ice a vampire; our Master's probably related to him somehow."

"No, it doesn't make sense," Chris countered, "Vamps don't get attached to their creations. They're like worker drones, not pets. There's no emotional attachment whatsoever. Sure, the vamp might get annoyed that one of his worker bees got taken out, but that wouldn't piss him off enough to send an army of the undead to kill the guy that did it."

"I meant blood related," Owen said, "As in the vamps were somehow related before they got turned. And don't forget about Ray and Susan." I couldn't help but notice Julie wince a little when he mentioned those names.

"Who?" Odette asked right before I could.

"You don't need to know," Julie replied sharply.

"Right," Chris said, "Okay, that does make sense then. But we still don't know who Steve's vampire is related too."

"You sure the incident's not in the database?" Earl asked.

"I've checked it a dozen times, Earl," Shannon replied, "I can't find any mention of it."

"Check again," Earl said.

"But I'm telling you—"

"Check again."

"Okay, fine," Shannon pouted, then turned towards the desk. "Uh, Julie..."

"Oh, sorry," Julie said as she hopped off the desk. Shannon reached down under the desk and powered on a computer. The monitor atop the desk came to life a second later. The computer booted up incredibly fast. It must have had some serious hardware upgrades; no stock desktop could boot that quickly. Shannon immediately called up some sort of web browser that I didn't recognize and entered a few quick commands. A minute later, the crest of the Monster Control Bureau appeared on the screen.

"Okay, we're in," she said. I felt my jaw go slack; she'd just hacked what had to be the most secure mainframe in the whole world, and she'd done it in less than two minutes. A second later, she called up a search program and typed in a query.

"See," she said after the search finished, "Like I said, nothing."

"That's 'cause you spelled it wrong," I said. Everyone else in the room looked at me like I'd just started speaking ancient Mayan or something.

"What?" Shannon asked.

"You spelled Tredyffrin wrong," I said, "Everyone pronounces it like it's spelled T-E-R-D, but it's really spelled T-R-E-D. That and there's two F's, not one, and an I, not an E."

"Oh," she said, still surprised. I guess she didn't make mistakes like that very often. "Okay, I'll try that then." She entered in the correct spelling and re-ran the search. A result popped up within seconds. "Okay, here it is. Yeah, Stephen Cooper slew vampire, Tredyffrin Public Library, eight months ago. There's a note here for an, and I quote 'unusual method of elimination.'"

"Any info on the dead vamp?" Earl asked.

"Yeah, right here. Ah… says his name was Jonathan Fletcher, Age 21 at his time of, uh, death, from Chicago. Active for just over a month before he was killed… Odette? Are you okay?"

Odette had gone completely pale. Her hands were pressed over her mouth, and she'd started shaking.

"Odette, what is it?" I asked, "What's wrong?"

"Oh God," she whispered, ignoring us, "Oh God no. No, it can't be him. It can't be him. Oh no. Please God, no. No, no, no, no, no, no!" Tears began to stream down her cheeks.

"Morgan, you knew him?" Earl asked, flabbergasted. Odette nodded.

"He… he's… he was, I mean… he was Robert's younger brother."

"You mean Robert your fiancé?" Dominique asked. Odette nodded again.

"Dear God!" Shannon said, while Chris proceeded to let out a stream of profanity so long and creative that it probably made his great-great grandparents blush with shame.

"Is there anything else in his file?" Earl asked, "Anything unusual?"

"Yes…" Shannon said slowly.

"What?"

"There's a… a hyperlink… on his brother's name."

The room went deadly silent. The phrase "so quiet you could hear a pin drop" doesn't even come close. For what seemed like hours, we just stood there, looking at each other with mixtures of shock, horror, and disbelief.

"Click on it," Earl said, finally shattering the quiet.

"But…" Shannon said.

"Click on it," Earl said, the edge in his voice so fine it could split a hair.

"Okay…" Shannon said. She clicked on the link, and another window opened on the screen. It was a dossier with a headshot of a dead man.

It was the same man I'd seen in my dream the night before.

"Robert Fletcher," Shannon read slowly, "Age 26. From Chicago. Killed just about a year ago by a Naga…"

"So how is he a vampire?" Julie asked.

"Let me see…" Shannon replied as she started scrolling down the page. Odette was staring at the computer screen in horror. "Okay," Shannon continued, "Ah… it says that he was bitten by a vampire at age six, while his family was travelling around Europe. Vampire was believed to be the Master Vampire known as… oh shit. He was bitten by Jaeger."

"WHAT!" Every single veteran hunter in the room shouted as one.

"Yeah, Jaeger got him," Shannon confirmed. The room erupted into the most vile chorus of profanity that I have ever had the displeasure of being caught in. I thought that cursing had stopped phasing me a long time ago, but by the time everyone finished, I felt like I needed to be steam cleaned.

"Uh, I'm sorry, but who exactly is this Jaeger guy?" I asked.

"The most powerful Master Vampire we've ever encountered," Owen said, "He was in league with Lord Machado, AKA The Cursed One. He drew his power from the _Kumarish Yar_ artifact. Before he got turned, he was a high-up in the Waffen SS. Real evil motherfucker before he got made undead. Being a vampire just made his disposition a whole lot worse.

"And the more powerful the creator, the more powerful the creation," I said. Yeah, I could understand why the vets were upset.

"Certainly explains how he got powerful enough to control wights, gargoyles, and harpies," Julie added.

"And why he would want Steve dead," Jon added.

"So what… uh… what are you going to do about me?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" Dominique asked me.

"Well… I've got what I assume to be an ultra-powerful Master Vampire trying to kill me, and so far he's attacked the team three times on account of that. I'm a danger to you guys."

"So?" Dominique asked.

"So what?"

"So what's that got to do with anything?" she asked, "You're a Hunter now. Hunters take care of each other." I suddenly felt a tremendous weight lift itself off my shoulders.

"Thanks Dominique," I said, "Thanks, guys."

"You knew."

"Huh?" I turned around to find Odette's gaze boring into me.

"You knew, didn't you?" she asked, "You knew it was Robert in your dream, didn't you? You knew he was alive! You knew!"

"Odette," Julie said softly, "Robert's dead. That thing is not your fiancé."

"You knew," Odette continued, ignoring me, "and you didn't tell me."

"Odette, I… I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was him until—"

"Until you saw my picture of him," Odette finished, "and you didn't say anything."

"Odette, I—"

_WHAP!_ The sound echoed off the walls like the crack of a bullwhip. My cheek stung where her hand had struck. The rest of the team stared at us in shock.

"You… you son of a bitch," She said, tears streaming down her face.

"Odette… I… I'm sorry."

"Go to hell," she said, "Just… just go burn in hell!" she turned and ran from the room. Julie called after her and followed her out a second later. The rest of the team just stared at me. I felt like shit. No, I felt worse than shit.

"Cooper, I want the truth," Earl growled after a painfully long minute, "did you know Robert was the man in your dream? Did you see his face?" From the tone of his voice, I knew that if he caught me in a lie, he would do very, very bad things to me.

"I saw his face in the second dream," I admitted, "Right before Odette showed me his picture."

"And you didn't say anything?" Shannon asked.

"What was I supposed to say? 'Oh, hey, your dead boyfriend looks just like the evil undead dude in my dreams, and I think he's trying to kill me.' Yeah, that would've worked out real well."

"You lied about it the first time I asked you," Earl said, "I don't like being lied to. I _really_ don't like it."

"I didn't want Odette to know!" I replied, "She's still trying to cope with Robert being dead, I didn't want to hurt her by telling him that now he's a monster and we have to kill him!"

"Yeah, great job with that," Owen said sarcastically.

"Shut up, Pitt," Earl barked. Right then, I swear I saw Harbinger's eyes turn yellow for a split second.

"So… what are we going to do about Robert?" Jon asked after a minute.

"Same thing we do to every other monster," Earl replied, "Kill him and collect the PUFF."

"And Odette?" Dominique asked, "She still has feelings for him, or at least for who he used to be. That might complicate things."

"And she was suicidal once," Chris pointed out.

"That was an isolated incident," I snapped.

"How can you be sure?" Chris asked.

"Because she promised me she wouldn't try it again."

"Oh, yeah, like that's worth anything now that you've royally pissed her off."

"Shut the fuck up, Unger!"

"Hey, it's not my fault you probably convinced her to try icing herself again."

"You son of a bitch!" I shouted, "You're a fucking dead man!" I lunged at him. He dropped into a fighting stance. Then thick arms wrapped around me and pulled me back.

"Get off of me!" I screamed, "I'm gonna kill that motherfucker!"

"Cool it!" Owen shouted in my ear, "Calm down both of you!"

"Let the shrimp go!" Chris goaded, "I'm gonna pound his ass straight through the—"

"EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Earl bellowed. My blood turned to ice in my chest and I immediately stopped struggling. Which was actually a bad move because Owen was so freaked out that he dropped me. Earl quickly dug a Zippo lighter out of his pocket and lit his cigarette. He took a few long, deep drags on the cancer stick, probably trying to calm himself down. I started coughing as the foul smoke drifted my way. Part of me wanted to ask Earl to go outside, but another part realized that he'd probably tear me limb from limb if I did. Short-term survival won out over long term health.

"This isn't helping," Earl said once he'd manage to dissipate his rage. "Julie's with Odette right now. She can help her work through this, and keep an eye on her to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. In the meantime, the rest of you go back to doing your jobs. You've got contracts to fulfill, right? Get on those. If Robert appears, stake and decapitate."

"And if… if Odette tries to stop us from doing that?" Shannon asked tentatively.

"Don't let her," Earl replied. "Owen, tell Julie that I'm transferring you two here for the time being. Dominique's going to need all the help she can get."

"Got it Earl," Owen replied.

"Thanks, Boss," Dominique said.

"Don't mention it," Earl replied. For a long moment, we all just stood there. "Don't y'all have stuff to be doing?" Earl asked. Everyone filed out of the archives, including Earl. Chris shot me a glare as we passed in the hall. I ignored him and shuffled back to my dorm room. God, how could I have screwed things up so badly?


	15. Chapter 15: Forgiveness

The next few weeks were pretty quiet. No more monster attacks, thank God. We guessed Robert had given up trying to get me. Either that or he was regrouping, planning a new strategy, waiting to strike. Personally, I was hoping that he'd given up.

I spent my downtime ordering parts for The Beast. Even though I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to do with the car, Dominique was still a huge help. Eventually, a new Tremec 5-speed transmission with a Hurst shifter, a McLeod clutch, Goodyear Eagle radial tires, a Magnaflow exhaust system, and a 3.55:1 rear differential were heading my way.

My leg brace also came off, and a round of x-rays revealed that all the damage had healed up, so I was good to go. I hadn't been so happy to hear news like that since… well, since my casts had come off way back when this whole thing started. The first box of car parts arrived that same day; that was icing on the cake. Pretty soon, I was spending most of my time either under, around, or somehow inside The GTO, along with Dominique and pretty much everyone else on the team. Even Owen and Julie helped out. Chris and Scotty got really into it. They ended up working really well together, which came as a surprise to Jon Dominique, and Shannon. I noticed it too; that cloud of animosity that had been hovering between them vanished as they squeezed into the engine bay of The Beast to get the transmission aligned. One day I'd have to figure out what'd happened between them. Right then, though, I had a much bigger concern. And getting The Beast finished wasn't it.

Odette still wasn't talking to me. Hell, she was barely tolerating being in the same room as me. And I couldn't blame her. There was no escaping the fact that I'd betrayed her .I wasn't sulking and moping about it anymore, but I still felt horrible about what I'd done. I'd tried to apologize, hell every time I saw her I said I was sorry, but she ignored me, pretended like I wasn't even in the same city let alone the same room. Sometimes she'd even walk out of a room if she saw me walk in. It was really starting to tear me up inside, seeing firsthand just how bad I'd hurt her.

I'd wound up spending most of my time in the garage, either working on The Beast myself or just sitting there looking at it. Right now I was doing the latter: since the leather seats were cracking and torn in some spots we'd removed most of the interior to have the whole thing professionally re-done. Unfortunately, that had revealed a little body rust, which lead to a search, which revealed even more rust, which meant we needed to do some serious metal patchwork before we did anything else, which meant removing pretty much everything from the car, including the drive train (not even the engine bay had escaped the infestation). That whole ordeal left me sitting on the rear bench seat, which was on the garage floor, as I stared at the empty shell of my Beast. It might be just a heap of parts now, but it would look awesome once it was finished.

"It certainly will, Stephen. You're welcome, by the way."

I jumped off the seat like it had just caught fire, actually twisting around in midair to find the owner of that voice.

"Doctor Bryson? What are you… How are you… You're in the garage!"

"Not exactly," he said with that impish smile, "You dozed off about ten minutes ago."

"Oh. Oh, yeah, uh, thanks for the heads-up about the car."

"I knew you'd like it," he said, his smile getting even wider.

"Yeah," I said with more enthusiasm than I felt, "Yeah, it's really cool."

"That isn't really all that important to you right now," he said, smile vanishing.

"You mean Odette." He nodded sagely. "Yeah, I screwed that one up big time, didn't I?"

"Yes, you definitely did mess up."

"Not like I could've done any different, though."

"Really?"

"If I'd told her about Robert, she'd still be angry."

"She would have been upset for a few days," Doctor Bryson said, "but she would have accepted it."

"And me not telling her means she hasn't been able to accept Robert being a vampire?"

"Oh, she came to terms with that days ago, she's just very angry at you."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know."

"You lied to her, Stephen. You lied to her and betrayed her trust—"

"You think I don't know that?"

"—and you did it when she needed you to be there for her." I hung my head, to ashamed to look at my old mentor.

"I know," I said angrily, "I know, all right? I get it. I screwed up big time, and I feel horrible about it."

"So tell her."

"What?"

"Tell her how bad you feel about what you've done to her."

"Uh, no offense, Doctor Bryson, but have you been watching? I've tried apologizing, and she ignores me every time."

"That's because you weren't apologizing," he replied, his friendly tone replaced by the deep, scholarly voice he saved for the pulpit. "You were sucking up to her, trying to make nice with her, trying to get back onto her good side."

"No, I wasn't…"

"You didn't really think you had done anything wrong, because you didn't think the outcome would have been any different," he continued. "But you were wrong, Stephen. If you had told her the truth, she would have been upset, not at you, but at the knowledge that the man she loved and thought dead was not really dead, but something far worse. But she would have overcome that pain; she would have done so by turning to you, and your promise to always be there for her. She would have come to you because she trusted you. Only you betrayed that trust, Stephen, and because of that she no longer has an anchor to hold fast too. Now do you understand?"

I slumped back down onto the seat, shoulders sagging. "Yeah," I whispered, "I understand now." A tear started to leak from my eye. I knew that I'd betrayed her trust, but I never once thought just how vital to her that trust was. I'd had no clue just how badly my little white lie had devastated her. No wonder she didn't want to hear my half-assed apologies.

"I am an idiot," I said.

"I wouldn't go quite that far," Doctor Bryson admonished, "but you do have a habit of not thinking things all the way through sometimes."

"Same thing." He ignored my retort.

"So, what are you planning on doing now?"

"Find Odette and apologize," I said, "I mean really apologize. No more half-assed 'I'm-sorry-but-' crap."

"Good," he said, his smile finally returning, "She's out on the shooting range. And watch your language."

"Sorry," I said, "Wait, how do you know…"

"It's complicated," he replied.

"I meant how did you know Odette wouldn't have stayed angry at me? I thought you couldn't tell me stuff like that."

"I can't tell you what is going to happen," he explained, "That, on the other hand, is something that would have happened already, a past that didn't occur. As I said, the rules are complicated."

"Yeah," I said, "You can say that again."

"As I said, the rules are complicated." That impish smile was back in full force. "Goodbye Stephen."

"Thank you!" I called after him as he slowly disappeared from sight.

My eyes snapped open. I was laying down on The Beast's now-removed rear bench seat. I eased myself up into a sitting position. For a long moment, I just sat there, staring at the disassembled Beast, thinking over the conversation I'd just had. He was right; I hadn't been thinking about Odette when I tried to apologize, only me. I wasn't about to make that mistake again.

I found Odette right were Doctor Bryson had said she'd be, on the firing line practicing with her UMP. I watched for a moment as she snapped the subgun up from low guard on-safe, fired a quick burst into her target, which turned out to be a picture of a zombie, and then returned the weapon to low guard on-safe. She was doing a good job of it too; the zombie's head had been pretty much eviscerated from the paper, and its torso was riddled with holes. Odette again snapped the gun up and fired. She got two rounds off before the bolt locked back on an empty magazine. She smoothly stripped the empty mag out of the gun and reloaded with a fresh one from the pouch on her belt. I was impressed; I remembered back in training when she'd had trouble figuring out where the magazine catch even was. Stupid Chicago gun laws.

"You come to apologize again?" I jumped a little at the sound of her voice; I didn't think she'd seen me approach. "Well?"

"No," I said after a very long, uncomfortable moment, "No, I didn't."

"Then what do you want?"

"I came to make a confession. I have been a complete, unmitigated asshole." Whatever she'd been expecting me to say, it hadn't been that. She turned towards me, almost dropping her subgun in shock.

"I told you that you could always count on me," I continued, "I promised you that I would always be there for you. I made you believe that you could trust me, but when that trust was tested I threw it back in your face. I turned my back on you. I betrayed you. I made you believe that I would be your anchor, only to throw you back out into the currents.

"Steve…"

"No, let me finish. You trusted me, and I knowingly, willingly betrayed that trust. And the worst part is I didn't even realize it. I thought you were just upset that Robert is a vampire, and you were taking it out on me. I didn't see how badly I'd hurt you. And now that I do see, I… I feel like… I feel so horrible about what I've done, I can't put it into words."

"Steve…"

"Odette, this isn't me telling another story, this isn't me pulling another phony 'I'm sorry' out of my ass. This is me being absolutely honest with you. I betrayed you, and I am truly, truly sorry."

"Are you finished?"

"Almost. I'm not going to ask you for your forgiveness, because honestly I don't deserve it, but I am going to ask one thing of you. I know you're hurting real bad right now, and I know that I'm the reason for that, but please, please do not let your pain lead you where mine led me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't lose your faith. I don't mean in me; honestly I don't expect you to ever trust me again. I mean don't let your pain make you lose your faith in God, or whatever deity you believe in." I paused for a second, Odette staring at me, unsure of what to make of what I was saying. "Odette, after what my father did to us, after Chad… died, I just… I started thinking about how God had let me and my family down. My whole life, I'd been taught that God will answer your prayers, that He will be there for you in your hour of need, and to make a long story short, I figured that He hadn't answered me, Chad, or anyone when they needed Him most. So I pretty much walked away from my faith, and I've been hurting from it ever since. And I am begging you, please, please don't make that mistake too."

For a long moment, we just stood there, staring at each other. Odette didn't say a word.

"That's all I wanted to tell you," I finally said, "I… I'll leave you alone now." I turned to walk away, but Odette's voice stopped me.

"Did you ever get it back?"

"What?"

"Your faith," she said, "Did you ever find it again?" I hung my head, unable to face her.

"Not really," I shook my head, "I've tried. I've been trying real hard to find my way back. But then I find myself looking at the world, looking at all the bad things that happen to good people, all the bad people who get away with what they've done Scott-free… and I find myself losing my way all over again."

I started walking away again, my mind a mess. I'd lifted one burden from my shoulders, only to have replaced it with another. Why had I told her that? Nobody, not even my family, knew about me abandoning my faith. That was my deepest, darkest secret, and I'd just confessed it to a woman who probably hated me. What on earth had I been thinking?

My thoughts were shattered as a hand landed on my shoulder. I turned around. Odette was standing there, looking at me. Her eyes were filled with… what? Not hatred… sorrow? Even pity?

"Steve, I… I don't know what to…" she suddenly glanced at something over my shoulder, and her eyes grew wide. "Oh my God! What the hell is that thing?"


	16. Chapter 16: Unexpected Reunion

"Oh my God! What the hell is that thing?"

I whirled around, hand flying towards my SIG. The gun cleared leather as I came face to face with the thing Odette had spotted.

"Woah there Steve! Kinda jumpy, aren't you?" I just stood there looking like a complete idiot. Shannon was heading down the path towards us, the rest of the team plus Owen, Julie and, to my surprise, Milo Anderson.

"Shannon, what's going…" I started, then saw what she was cradling in my arms. "What the… holy crap! Holy _crap_! Is that… that's a Warhammer!"

"What's a Warhammer?" Odette asked.

"It's made by Crusader Weaponry, the same guys who made my Partisan," I said, "It's basically an AR-15 on steroids, chambered for 12-guage shotshells."

"Wow." Odette wasn't much of a gun nut, but the rest of us were slowly working to convert her. Stupid Chicago gun laws.

"Yeah, looks like Milo's done some custom work on it, too." I said. The massive shotgun had been fitted with a MagPul UBR stock, EOTech Holosight, a strange-looking muzzle break on the end of the cut-down barrel, and some sort of custom oversized fore-end that featured an integrated vertical grip.

"Got that right," Milo said proudly as the rest of the group reached us. "I modified the selector so it'll run semi- and full-auto, tweaked the gas system so it'll cycle low-power specialty loads, chopped the barrel down to just in front of the hand guards."

"And the muzzle break to tame recoil?" I asked.

"It's not a muzzle break," he explained, "It's a duckbill spreader."

"Ah, right." The duckbill spreader was designed to spread a shotgun pattern out in an oval shap, rather than a circle, allowing the pattern to spread over a wider area at closer range.

"Milo says it'll help me hit better," Shannon explained.

"Why don't we find out if it works?" Jon asked. Like the rest of us, he was just itching to see this monster in action.

"Sure thing," Shannon said, then turned to us, "Is the range hot?"

"You bet it is!" Odette said, "Rock and roll!" Shannon was more than happy to oblige. She stepped up to the line, raised the huge shotgun to her shoulder, and fired off a ten-round magazine. She dropped the mag, reloaded, flipped the selector to full, and held down the trigger. The gun ripped through the magazine in about a second. She dumped the mag and Milo handed her a big drum magazine. She loaded it in three seconds and dumped it just as fast. By now, Jon, Chris, Scotty, Milo, Owen, and I were giggling like idiots, and everyone else had huge grins plastered on their faces. Even Odette was enjoying the display of controlled carnage: her zombie target had been completely obliterated.

"Dude, Milo, that is incredible!" Owen said.

"Yeah, I don't think I'll ever convert another Saiga again," Milo said wistfully, "That Warhammer is an incredible gun."

"You can say that again," Shannon explained, "Milo, this thing is incredible! Thank you so much!"

"Don't mention it," Milo said modestly.

"Yeah, Milo's always happiest when he's working in his evil lab," Owen said, "Drives his wife crazy." Milo laughed and flipped him the bird.

"What's with the handguards?" Odette asked, "They seem a little… um… big?" An evil grin suddenly spread across Milo's face.

"I was hoping you'd ask," he said, "Shannon, wanna show 'em?"

"Oh yeah." Shannon raised the Warhammer again and moved her hand back to the vertical foregrip. She flicked open a small panel that I hadn't spotted before, revealing a small red button. She smiled an uncharacteristically wicked looking smile, then jammed her finger down on the button.

Everyone except Milo jumped as a fifty-foot long pillar of flame shot out from under the Warhammer's muzzle.

The fireball snuffed out a second later, but we all stared in awe at the spot where it had been. Chris recovered first.

"Fuckin' … what the fuckin' fuck … who the fuck … fuck this fuckin' … how'd you fuckin' fuck … _fuck!_"

"Well, uh, that certainly illustrates the diversity of the word," Scotty replied absently, still awed by the fireball.

"Holy freakin' crap!" Jon said, "Milo, that was… was that… a flamethrower?"

"Yep," Milo said, beaming with pride, "Pressurized napalm, my own custom mix. It's self-oxidizing, so you can light that stuff off underwater and it'll still burn. There's two fuel tanks in the handguard, half-gallon each. That'll only give you about six seconds of burn time, but I set it up so you can hook it up to an external fuel source, and you can run it for however long it takes to deplete that."

"Milo, you've really outdone yourself this time," Julie said. Milo blushed from under his beard.

"Thanks, Julie."

"Don't thank me, 'cause now I think Owen wants one." She was probably right; Owen was still staring at the spot where the fireball had been. A huge, manic-looking grin was stretched across his face, and I think I heard him start to giggle.

"Shannon," I said, "you gotta give that thing a name."

"Milo?" Shannon asked.

"Doesn't have one yet," he said, a little bit embarrassed, "I couldn't think of anything cool enough."

"How 'bout Abomination Mark II?" Julie asked.

"It's not a Saiga," Milo pointed out.

"Doombringer?" Chris asked.

"Nah, that's way too dark," Shannon replied.

"How about Mutant Flamethrowing Shotgun of Death?" Scotty asked

"You're kidding, right?" Chris asked.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Way too long."

"How about Firefly?" Odette asked.

"Ooh, no, call it Vera!" I exclaimed. Nine blank stares rewarded my suggestion.

"What's a Vera?" Shannon asked.

"Jayne's customized Callahan Full-Bore Autolock from _Firefly_." The blank stares continued. "You mean you guys have never seen _Firefly_? None of you?"

"Guess not," Dominique said, "And I like Mjollnir."

"What's that?" Shannon asked.

"Thor's hammer," Dominique explained, "Kind of appropriate considering it's based on something called Warhammer." Before anyone could respond, her cell phone began to ring. She quickly fished it out of her pocket and took a step back from the group as the debate resumed.

"What about Excaliber?"

"That could work…"

"Leonidas?"

"That sounds girly."

"Dude, he was the leader of the 300 Spartans!"

"Don't care, still sounds girly. Howsabout Devastator?"

"Enough with the dark names, Chris."

"How's Devastator dark?"

"I still like Vera."

"Which none of the rest of us get."

"You really should call it Mutant Flamethrowing Shotgun of Death."

"Scotty!"

"Boudica." All conversation ceased, and we turned as one to look at Owen. It was the first time he'd entered the debate.

"What's Boudica?" Shannon asked.

"Celtic warrior queen from the First Century AD. Lead her tribe in an uprising against the Roman Empire in what's now England. Burned three cities to the ground, including London, and rounted and entire Roman Legion. The IX Hispania, I think it was. Nearly got the Romans to abandon Britania."

"Boudica," Shannon said, trying out the name, "Boudica… Boudica… Yeah, Boudica. I like it!"

"And the trivia king strikes again," Julie replied with a roll of her eyes.

"And so Boudica it is," Milo said.

"Pack it up, guys," Dominique said as she pocketed her cell phone. "That was an old friend of mine in the State Police. We got a crisis."

"Zombies?" I asked.

"No. Said he's got some kind of creature holed up in an office building down in Blue Bell."

"Did he say what kind?" Chris asked, all business.

"He's not sure. All he knows is that it's really big and looks like it's hungry. So load up everything, just to be safe. Milo, you want to join us?"

"Dominique, you know I'd love to," he replied with an apologetic shrug, "But I gotta get back to Cazador. Earl said to deliver the Warha… uh… deliver Boudica and then get my ass back to Alabama right quick."

"Oh, come on Milo," Odette said, "It's not like he's gonna eat you if you don't turn around and run back to headquarters right away, right?" Strangely, no one laughed at that.

"Yeah, I really should run," Milo said awkwardly. "Shannon, I want a full field report."

"You'll get it as soon as we're finished with this thing."

"So," Dominique said, "Pack everything. Rifles, subguns, shotties, specialty loads, grenades, explosives, and some white oak stakes just in case… hey, Steve, you okay?" I realized my face felt flush and my hands had started to shake.

"My stepfather works in Blue Bell."

The ride down to Blue Bell was uncomfortably silent. It was my stepfather's office that we were heading to. Dominique had told me that her State Trooper friend had assured her that the building had been evacuated and that everyone had been accounted for and was okay, but I was still pretty worried. Okay, I was about ready to have a nervous breakdown. Until I saw him with my own eyes, I couldn't shake the feeling that the creature, whatever it was, had gotten him.

As our little convoy pulled into the all-too-familiar parking lot, I felt my heart sink. The entire lot was cordoned off with yellow Police Line tape, with several Pennsylvania State Police cars and SUVs parked in the middle. Over a dozen troopers were forming a line at the far end of the lot, working to keep back a sizable crowd. The people who worked in the building, I realized. As we drove past, I scanned the crowd for my stepfather's face. I didn't see him.

One of the troopers broke away from his comrades as we pulled to a halt. He jogged over to our SUVs as we disembarked and, to my surprise, waved at Dominique.

"Domino!" he called as he drew near.

"Lou!" Dominique replied. She walked over to him and, to the team's shock, pulled him into a tight embrace. "Damn, Lou, it's great to see you! How've you been?"

"Doin' pretty good, I guess. Made Sergeant last year."

"You're kidding? I didn't realize they'd let their standards slide so much." Lou broke into a fit of laughter at that, "How's Steph and the kids?"

"They're all good. Rita's in second grade now."

"Really! Damn, Lou, you're making me feel like an old woman."

"Wait, wait, hang on a second," Owen said, "You two know each other?"

"Uh huh," Dominique said, "This here's Lou Profaci, the sorriest excuse for a Trooper in the history of the Pennsylvania State Police. We worked in Troop J together for five years."

"Yep, until we had us a nasty run-in with a ghoul out near Strasburg. MHI tried to recruit both of us afterwards. Dominique took the offer, obviously, but I enjoyed being a State Trooper too much."

I listened to the exchange with half an ear; I was desperately scanning the crowd of onlookers for any sign of my stepfather.

"Stephen?" I looked over to see a tall, lanky man in a gray suit push past a state trooper and start running over. The rest of the team all turned to look as he approached me. "Stephen, what are you doing here?" I suddenly went from feeling relief to very, very much on the spot.

"Uh… hi Matt."

"What's going on?" he asked, "I thought you had a job in Alabama."

"Uh, yeah about that…"

"What are you doing up here?"

"I... uh… It's a long story, but the short version is that we're here to deal with the thing in your building."

"They said it was a mountain lion and they'd called Animal Control."

"I saw the thing," I heard Sergeant Profaci mutter, "It wasn't no damn mountain lion."

"Well, I am animal control," I said, "Sort of."

"What is that supposed to mean, and what are you doing here?"

"Look, Matt," I said, "I can't talk right now. I gotta go into your building and kill the thing that's in there. After I do that and you get threatened by a pair of Federal Agents, I promise I'll explain everything."

"What do you mean, 'threatened by Federal Agents?'" I looked over and, to my absolute embarrassment, saw my mother and two younger brothers running towards us."

"Uh, Mom, Terry, Jake, what're you all doing here?"

"They're on summer vacation so we decided to come out here and have lunch with your stepfather," Mom explained, "So now what are you doing here, and… what are you doing with those assault weapons?" she pointed at my FAL and Mossberg, the latter of which was slung across my back in a quick-draw scabbard.

"Okay, first, there's no such thing as an assault weapon. I told you guys, that's just a term invented by hoplophobic politicians to scare people into supporting their anti-gun agendas. Second, I have to go to work right now, but I promise…"

"Hey, Steve!" Dominique shouted, "Feel like joining us anytime soon?"

"I'm coming!" I shouted back, "Hang on a second! I'll explain everything as soon as I'm done." They started to protest, but I ignored them and jogged back over to the team, who'd assembled next to one of the State Police Crown Vics. "Sorry about that," I said.

"Anyway, now that we're all here," Dominique said sarcastically, "Lou said the initial call was for a mountain lion in the building. He went in with a shotgun, saw the thing in the basement, realized it wasn't said mountain lion, got the building evacuated and called us."

"Did he say what it looked like?" Julie asked.

"Really big cat, about the size of a smallish horse, with two heads and a snake for a tail."

"Chimera," Shannon said immediately.

"Sounds like it," Dominique agreed, "So we either take all three of the heads off or pump enough lead into it until it stops."

"How much lead are we talking?" I asked.

"A lot," Jon replied.

"Any questions?' Dominique asked. We all shook our heads 'no.' "Okay, good. Jon, find a position that'll give you overwatch on the northeast corner of the building, just in case this thing makes it out. Julie, same thing on the southwest." The two sharpshooters nodded and jogged off while the rest of us checked over our gear. I quick ran back over to the truck and grabbed my Katana, clipping its sheath to the webbing on my left hip. A few minutes later, Jon and Julie reported that we were in position. "Let's go," Dominique shouted, and we all rallied back on her. "Shannon, you and Boudica get on point. Scotty, behind her. We'll breach the front, work our way into the basement. If it's there, we kill it. If not, we work our way up and clear floor by floor. Understand?" We all nodded. "Good."

"Guys, I've got movement on the fourth floor," Jon said over the radio. We all glanced at each other. The police said everyone was accounted for. If there were still people inside…

"Is it human?" Dominique asked.

"Can't tell, it's back away from the windows… looks like maybe two or three people… oh shit! Guys, you've got incoming—"

Jon's words were cut off as one of the fourth floor windows exploded in a shower of razor shards.

Screams erupted from the crowd as the creature sailed through the air. It landed in the center of the parking lot, crushing one of the Police Crown Victorias. For a minute, time just stopped. We stared at the creature and it stared at us.

It was massive, at least the size of a horse. Muscles rippled under every inch of its golden-brown fur. Two heads jutted out from the front of its torso, one above the other. The lower head was surrounded by a thick mane of fur, while two long horns jutted from the top of the upper head. Its tail was upright, the tip of which darted back and forth. The tip, I realized, was another head; two long, wicked looking fangs hung from the upper jaw. After an eternity, all three mouths opened as one, and the creature let out a bellowing roar.

The sound snapped everyone in the parking lot back to reality. The crowd erupted into screams, the cops drew their sidearms, and eight hunters snapped their weapons to their shoulders. For a long second, no one moved. Then the chimera lunged towards us, and we unleashed hell.

The beast was slammed to the ground by a virtual wall of hot lead and silver. I rapid-fired my FAL, keeping the Trijicon scope's crimson triangle centered square on the beast's chest. On either side of me, Shannon and Owen had flipped their shotguns to auto and were both holding the triggers down, dumping dozens of slugs and buckshot pellets into the creatures. The State Troopers were firing their .45 GAP Glocks as fast as they could pull the triggers. A high-velocity round from Jon's SR-25 snapped past my ear and screamed into the chimera's lower head, shattering its skull and blowing brain matter across the windshield of a Hyundai Sedan. The noise, even through my headphones, was deafening.

It was beautiful.

Owen fired Abomination's grenade launcher, lobbing a 40 millimeter chunk of high explosives into the pavement in front of the creature. Even over the gunfire, I could hear it scream as a gout of fire, smoke, and shards of asphalt ripped into the air.

"CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!" Dominique screamed into the radio, holding up her fist as a signal to end the carnage. We all complied, some more reluctantly than others. There was a huge cloud of dust where the chimera had been standing. Nothing moved within it. My FAL's bolt was locked back on an empty magazine. I stripped it out and reloaded, my eyes not leaving the gray fog.

"Is it… is it dead?" One of the State Troopers asked as he tried to reload his Glock. His hands shaking so badly that he couldn't get the magazine to line up with the pistol's mag well. Another bellowing roar answered his question.

"I think that's a no!" Odette replied. A second later, the chimera slinked out of the cloud. The top of its second head was completely gone, destroyed by Jon's precision shot. Its body was covered with countless wounds, but few of them seemed to be bleeding badly.

"How the hell is that thing still standing?" I asked.

"Really, really thick hide," Dominique explained, "And it's got triple of everything. Three brains, three hearts, six lungs. Respiratory and circulatory system bypasses and redundancies up the Ying-Yang. That's why you gotta take the heads off: destroys the central nervous system."

"But we already took out one brain, shouldn't that slow it down?" Odette asked.

"Nervous system's completely interconnected. It can still function with only one head. It'll be slower, but it'll still be lethal." As if to prove Dominique's point, the chimera's two remaining heads let out another roar and the beast charged us again. A hail of lead again erupted into the creature, but it was less intense this time: not everyone had remembered to reload. The beast lunged at a State Police SUV, batting aside two troopers with its massive paws. One hit a nearby cruiser with a sickening _thud_.

Odette unloaded her UMP into the creature, but it barely seemed to register the hits. Then Shannon tried the same thing with Boudica. It felt that; stumbling under the onslaught of ten one-ounce deer slugs. My FAL locked back on another empty magazine, so I dropped it, letting the sling catch it as I pulled the Mossberg from its back scabbard. I racked a shell into the chamber and fired, the silver buckshot blowing a chunk of flesh out of the thing's shoulder. It whirled towards me with a roar, and began to slowly advance, limping as it came. I racked another shell and fired. The shot slammed into its chest. It barely slowed down. I started backing up, firing as fast as I could work the slide. The chimera stumbled, but didn't stop. Then Scotty popped up from behind one of our SUVs and fired his Benelli into the creature's second head.

The FRAG-12 is basically a miniature high-explosive grenade loaded inside a shotgun shell. The round was originally designed to disable and destroy lightly-armored vehicles, but it's also a very effective anti-personnel weapon as well: it'll blow a basketball-sized hole through a man's chest. They're also incredibly effective against monsters. The chimera's head exploded in a blinding fireball. Everything nearby, including me, was showered with blood and chimera brains. The blast actually knocked the creature off its feet, spinning it around in midair. It landed on its feet, stumbled, and went down, only to spring right back up. Its one remaining set of eyes locked with mine, and then it charged me.

I raised my shotgun and squeezed the trigger. _Click_. Empty. I dropped it, drew my SIG P220, and emptied the pistol into its head. Or at least, I tried too; its tail bobbed and weaved around, causing my shots to miss wide. I dropped the pistol and drew the 220 compact from behind my back, backpedaling as I went. Rounds from the rest of the team slammed into the creature, but it didn't stop. I emptied the little .45, again to no avail. I let it fall. The Chimera was right on top of me. It cocked its long tail/neck back, preparing to strike. And all I had left was my katana. I wrapped my hand around the hilt, my eyes locked on the beast's bobbing head. I heard someone, I don't know whether it was Odette, Shannon, or my mother, screaming my name.

Then the chimera struck.

Its head lashed out towards me in a blur, jaw wide open, fangs extended like spearpoints. I sidestepped and drew the katana. The blade flashed through the air. An ancient battle cry echoed on my lips. The beast staggered forwards and collapsed. Its neck/tail, now missing the third head, thrashed around for a moment, then went still.

The silence that filled the parking lot was deafening.

I realized that I was holding my breath, and let sweet oxygen fill my lungs again. My shoulders sagged with relief, and I started to turn back to the rest of the team.

A woman screamed. I saw a blur out of the corner of my eye and turned towards it. The severed snake-head was leaping towards me, fangs extended in a final effort to kill. I spun on my heels and thrust the katana out like a spear. The blade went straight down the snake-tail's throat, and the beast impaled itself on the tip.

I stood there for what felt like hours, staring at the snake-tail's now-lifeless eyes. I'd just done something straight out of _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_. Woah.

"Hey, you all right?"

"Huh?" I turned to find Sergeant Profaci slowly walking towards me, the rest of the team and a few civilians trailing after him. "Oh, uh, yeah, I'm good." I looked down at the snake-tail impailed along the length of my blade, then held the sword over my head.

"Shish-kabob, anyone?"


	17. Chapter 17: Here We Go Again!

The aftermath of the shootout was predictable. Julie made it back to the parking lot right about the time that the MCB showed up. The contingent consisted of three dozen agents dressed for war led by none other than Agents Willard and Simpkin. While Julie bitched about how she'd missed all the fun, Willard began "strongly encouraging" the civilian witnesses to keep their mouths shut about the incident, which was already being labeled as a mountain lion attack.

I just sat on the hood of one of MHI's trucks, wiping chimera guts off my katana. The rest of the team gave me a round of pats on the back (Owen's nearly knocking me over), and a few civilians wandered over and nervously stammered their thanks. That caught me off guard; I'd never expected to get thanked for what we did, considering the whole Monster Hunting bit had to be kept secret and all. Plus, I was kind of distracted too; I still had no idea how I was going to explain to my family what my new job really was. I'd told them I was taking a job as a technical writer for a defense contractor down in Alabama, which they'd just discovered (rather dramatically) wasn't exactly the truth. And, shit, I realized that I hadn't even told them I'd been moved up to Scranton. I found myself dreading that inevitable conversation even more.

"So…" I looked up from my katana to find Mom, Matt and my two brothers standing over me. I couldn't help but cringe: the moment I'd been dreading had arrived. "Would you like to tell us what's going on now?" Matt asked.

"It's kind of complicated," I said, "And you guys are probably going to think I'm insane."

"Dude, we just saw you kill a three-headed monster-lion thing with a samurai sword," Terry said, "Insane just took on a whole new meaning for us."

"Just tell us the truth," Mom begged, "we don't care how crazy it might sound."

"Okay…" I said sliding the katana back into its sheath, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Matt said.

"Especially when you started this whole monster killing thing," Mom added.

"Okay, well, uh, you remember that crackhead I killed at the library?"

"Let me guess, he was really a werewolf," Jake said.

"Vampire, actually," I replied. I spent the next few minutes telling them everything that had happened to me over the last few months, from my encounter with Robert's brother to the job offer from Dominique and Jon to the four months of brutal training down in Alabama (I left out some of the more disgusting parts) to the sheer chaos of the last couple of weeks. I even told them about Robert, though I conveniently forgot to mention that he was hunting me; I just told them he was Odette's ex-boyfriend and let them make their own conclusions. Throughout my entire story, all four of them just stood there, absorbing the truth. My brothers looked like they were taking it pretty well; Jake was a huge D&D nerd (much to my mother's chagrin), and Terry had always been something of a sci-fi junkie, so they weren't completely dumbfounded by my story. I wish I could say the same thing about my parents: Mom looked like she was going to throw up, and even my normally impassive stepfather had gone pale.

"This isn't real," Mom started mumbling when I'd finished, "This isn't happening. You're having a nightmare, Maria. This is all just a bad dream. Wake up. You need to wake up. Wake up, Maria."

"It's not a dream, Mom," Terry said, "It's really happening. Steve's a Monster Killer."

"Monster Hunter," Jake corrected, "He works for Monster _Hunter_ International, so that makes him a Monster Hunter."

"But he kills 'em when he finds 'em," Terry protested, "That makes him a Monster Killer."

"He's a Monster Hunter!" Jake insisted.

"Killer!" Terry shouted.

"Hunter!" Jake retorted with a shove.

"Killer!" Terry shoved Jake back.

"Boys, please don't fight," Matt said absently. Wow, he was definitely having a hard time coming to terms with my new career: normally he'd jump down their throats when they started fighting like that.

"But Da-ad…" the twins whined as one, "_He_ started it!" I cringed a little bit: that whole twins-both-saying-the-same-thing-at-once bit always freaked me out a little.

"What the hell is going on here?" We all looked over to see Agent Willard storming towards us, eyes burning with anger.

"It's called a family reunion," I replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, "but I guess you wouldn't know, seeing as how you probably don't get invited to many." Willard ignored the barb, instead sweeping his jacket aside and reaching for his Glock.

"You're all in violation of the Unearthly Forces Disclosure Act!" He sounded almost happy when he said that.

"What? How?" I retorted, "What exactly is there to disclose? I know about monsters, they know about monsters, I know that they know, they know that I know, I know that they know that I know, they know that I know that they know, and you know all of that."

"Just… just…" he stammered, struggling to decipher what exactly I'd just said. I figured that I'd stumped him enough so he'd leave us alone. "That doesn't matter!" he finally spat, "You're all still in violation!" Or maybe not. He grabbed his pistol and flicked open the holster's safety strap.

"I wouldn't do that." I said.

"Really? Why not?" I slowly dropped into a fighting stance and wrapped my hand around the katana's hilt.

"Because if you do, I'll chop off your arm and shove it so far up your ass that you'll choke on it."

"Stephen!" Mom exclaimed, probably more horrified at my using course language and actually threatening someone than the fact that said someone was a Fed who was threatening to kill her entire family. Willard smirked.

"You're bluffing."

"Then call," I replied, "If you think you're fast enough."

"Fast enough?"

"Yeah, fast enough to clear leather and kill me before I draw my katana and take your hand off."

"That's enough!" Agent Simpkin shouted as he skidded to a halt between the two of us.

"Simpkin, arrest him!" Willard demanded.

"For what?"

"Threatening a Federal Agent and violating the UFDA."

"Bullshit, Willard," Simpkin snapped, "I watched the whole thing. You know that UFDA violation is bullshit, and you were deliberately escalating the situation. My report'll say you were dangerously close to entrapment, and any action undertaken by Mister Cooper was justifiable self-defense." Willard whirled to face his subordinate, face suddenly flush with rage.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"The hell I won't! Last I checked, you're on thin ice with the Director as it is. The last thing you need is another black mark in your file." Willard's face turned beet red as he deliberated whether or not to turn his sidearm on his fellow agent. I could tell he was very tempted.

"Uh, Steve?" Terry asked, "Sorry, I know this sounds kind of random, but what do goblins look like?"

"Uh, humanoid, about five feet tall, stocky build, green scaly skin, long pointy ears, sharp teeth, wicked claws."

"Green scales? Not gray and leathery with red eyes?"

"No, those are wights," I replied automatically, then paused as what he'd said finally clicked, "Uh… why do you ask?"

"Oh, there's some standing over there." He pointed to the rear of the lot. I followed his gaze. A full three dozen wights locked eyes with me. An unearthly scream shattered the darkening sky.

"CONTACT!" Simpkin shouted, sidearm appearing in his hand like magic, "WIGHTS TO THE SOUTH!" Screams anew erupted from the remaining civilians as the wights charged down the lot. I rolled over the hood of the SUV as gunfire erupted from the Fed's positions and the rest of the Hunters scrambled for their weapons. I'd tossed the FAL and Mossberg into the back of the truck. The rear hatch was still open. I lunged inside and grabbed the first weapon I could reach. It was my FAL. I snapped it to my shoulder, racked the charging handle, drew a bead on the nearest wight, and pulled the trigger.

_Click._

I looked down at the FAL in disbelief, then mentally kicked myself when I discovered what had happened. In my haste to join the fight, I'd forgotten to load the rifle! I quickly snatched a magazine from one of the pouches on my armor and jammed it into the receiver. Racking the charging handle, I snapped the rifle up again and drew a bead on the nearest wight.

_BOOM!_ "That's what I was looking for!" I shouted as my bullet exploded the top of the wight's head. The wight dropped. I drew a bead on yet another and double-tapped the trigger, blowing out its spine. It collapsed in a heap and started dragging itself towards me. I shifted my aim and double-tapped it again, blowing its head apart like an overripe cantaloupe.

A hand clamped down on my shoulder. I turned and found myself face-to-face with Dominique. She said something, but I couldn't really make it out. Something about one of the civilians' rings?

"WHAT?"

"FALL BACK AND FORM A RING AROUND THE CIVILIANS! KEEP THE WIGHTS AWAY FROM THEM!"

"OKAY!" I started to fall in behind her, then realized why I hadn't heard her: I'd forgotten to put my earplugs back in. "WAIT A SEC!" I shouted, "COVER ME!"

"WAIT, WHAT?" Dominique asked, but I'd already slung my FAL over my shoulder and was fishing through my pockets for the earplugs. A few seconds later, I found them and they were in my ears. Much better. Dominique rolled her eyes and began backing towards the knot of terrified civilians, coolly pumping round after round into the advancing wights. I tucked in behind her, putting one wight down for the count and sending two more to the ground before my FAL ran dry.

As I snatched another magazine from my web gear, I caught a glimpse of my family out of the corner of my eye. Matt had thrown himself over Mom and the Twins. Matt looked like he couldn't decide whether to wet his pants, vomit, or both; Mom wasn't looking much better. Jake and Terry were looking out from under our parents, hands clamped over their ears, drinking in the whole scene. They were fascinated, amazed, almost like they were enjoying it, and I realized that I was probably looking at a pair of future Monster Hunters.

Mom and Matt were definitely not going to be happy about that.

"Guys, I think I need some help here!" Jon's voice snapped me back into the fight. I looked over to see him standing behind one of the State Police Crown Vics. A pair of wights had made it past the perimeter and were right on top of him. He emptied the magazine of his big SR-25 point-blank into one, turning it into undead paste. He released the rifle and went for his sidearm. He never made it.

Time dilated as I watched. The big rifle appeared to hang in mid-air as the wight cocked its arm back and batted the weapon aside. The blow shattered the gun's receiver and send pieces sailing through the air. Jon started to stumble backwards, desperately trying to draw his custom-built 1911 from its holster. He'd barely cleared leather when the wight slammed its fist into his chest, sending him to his knees. I locked the magazine into the FAL and let the bolt fly home as the wight grabbed Jon around the neck and lifted him off the ground, bringing his face closer and closer to its gaping, razor filled maw. I dialed my rifle's scope to maximum magnification and saw Jon's eyes were wide with terror. I centered the crosshairs on the wight's ear and pulled the trigger. The creature's head exploded, showering Jon with black blood and undead brain matter. He collapsed to the ground, unmoving thanks to the wight's paralyzing touch. He was laying square in the line of fire and, more importantly, in the path of the onrushing wights.

"Give me cover fire!" I shouted into the radio to no one in particular as I charged out of the perimeter towards him. Two more wights launched themselves over a parked SUV. I snapped up the FAL and emptied it into them, sending their broken bodies slamming to the pavement. I let the rifle fall away as I reached Jon. Its sling caught it and held it fast to my armor.

"Hang on, buddy," I said as I crouched next to him, "I'm gonna get you out of here." Jon managed a weak croak as I grabbed the drag handle on the back of his armor and began to pull. "Geez, man, you way a freakin' ton! What have you been eating, bricks?" Even paralyzed, he managed to roll his eyes at me. Another wight came at us. I drew my pistol and emptied it one-handed into the creature's face. "I COULD USE SOME COVER!" I shouted again.

"Got it!" I looked over in surprise as none other than Agent Simpkin came charging into the fray, emptying a German-made G36K assault rifle into a pack of wights. He slid up to me and pulled his sidearm, a heavily-customized Colt Delta Elite. "You got him?" I nodded. He wrapped his arm under Jon's shoulder. "Move!" I needed no second bidding. The two of us drug the limp Jon across the pavement, firing our pistols into the crowd of wights.

"Where's that fire support?" Simpkin shouted into his radio as we reached the perimeter. I couldn't hear his reply, but he nodded a second later and smiled.

"Fire support?" I asked.

"Yeah, there." He pointed to the entrance to the parking lot. A moment later, a lone Chevy Suburban sped up the street and into the lot.

"One SUV?" I asked in disbelief, "Your fire support is one lousy SUV?"

"Just watch," he said with a grin. The Suburban skidded to a halt between us and the rest of the wights. Then a hatch I hadn't seen before popped open, and then a second later…

"That's a damn minigun!" Shannon exclaimed as the M134 emerged from inside the SUV. I had just enough time to clamp my hands over my ears before the monster gun opened up.

The M134 is one of the latest incarnations of Dr. Richard Gattling's famous design. Powered by an electric motor, it fires the same 7.62mm NATO cartridge as my FAL, but at a rate of 6,000 rounds per minute. That's one hundred bullets every second. Even with MHI's noise-blocking earplugs, the sound is still deafening. The gunner on the MCB's minigun held the trigger down for less than ten seconds, but by the time he ceased fire, not a single wight was still in one piece. Far from it; most of them had been completely shredded by the hail of hot lead.

I looked down at Jon. His arms and legs were moving a little. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he replied weakly, "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks."

"Hey, I owed you," I replied.

"Everyone okay?" Dominique asked. We all checked in affirmative.

"Thanks," I said to Simpkin. He just nodded in reply before jogging off to rejoin his fellow Feds. I helped Jon to his feed and over to where the rest of our team was gathering around one of our trucks.

"So," Dominique said, "Wights again. Looks like Robert's back to his old tricks."

"It would appear so," Chris replied, "I'm gonna call Earl once we get back to the compound."

"Call him now," Dominique said.

"He's probably gonna be pissed," Scotty said.

"Well, right now I'm kinda pissed," Dominique replied, "Call him anyway. Odette? You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, "I'm good." She sounded anything but.

"First time I'm out of the compound in a month, and look what happens," I said absently.

"Yeah, that's why we need to tell Earl."

"What's he going to do with me?"

"I honestly have no idea."

"Wait, excuse me, I'm sorry," but what does my son coming out of your compound have to do with those… things… attacking us?" We all turned to find my mother standing next to us, hands on her hips. The rest of the team looked at me. My stomach tied itself into a not.

"Mom," I said with a lot more confidence than I felt. "I think you better sit down…"


	18. Chapter 19: Undead Enemy Number 1

We headed back to my family's house before we left for the compound so they could grab some clothes and our dogs. The twins adamantly refused to leave them behind. I couldn't blame them. While I couldn't stand Lulu, Mom's Miniature Poodle (and trust me, the feeling was mutual), I adored our two beagles, Dan and Ann, and absolutely loved Hondo, the four-year old Rottweiler I'd adopted as a puppy.

Hondo and I went way back. I'd adopted him right at the end of my junior year in college, a few months after Chad had… died. The family was still hurting, me especially. I was still really broken up emotionally, even after the sessions with the pshrink and my meetings with Dr. Young. A good friend of mine from school who also lived locally bred Rottweilers with his parents. He knew I was having a rough time, so he and his folks gave me my pick of the litter. Mom and Matt hadn't been thrilled when I brought Hondo home. Okay, they'd been downright ticked – Mom hated big dogs – but there was nothing they could do about it.

I spent that entire summer training Hondo. It had been tough, but it was more than worth it. He and I really bonded over those four long months. I gave him my complete love and devotion, and he returned the favor one hundred fold. Jake and Terry warmed up to him really fast, and by the end of the summer Matt had softened his opinion of Hondo. Mom, however, took a bit more convincing.

Said convincing happened one Friday morning that fall when the twins were at school, I was walking Dan and Ann (I commuted to college), and Matt had Lulu at the vet. Mom hated to be left alone in the house with Hondo because she was afraid he'd attack her for no good reason (nevermind the fact that he loved her to death), but that day she had no choice. Good thing too, because about twenty minutes after I left, a punk with a ski mask and a crow bar kicked in our front door. Twenty seconds later, he found himself penned into the corner of the living room by seventy snarling pounds of angry six-month old Rottwieler, followed in a few moments by forty-odd pounds of howling beagles and the barrel of my .380 Walther PPK.

To make a long story short, the cops came and arrested the guy (we later learned he was wanted for multiple home invasion robberies, one of which ended in a homicide), and Mom found herself head over heels in love with Hondo. The only downside to the whole thing was that my parents made me get rid of the Walther, which they didn't know I'd bought. I did sell it the week after, but used the money to buy my P6 (they never did find out about that one), so it wasn't all bad.

Hondo was full-grown now, one hundred and five pounds of purebred loyalty and affection. We'd become all but inseparable, and it had broken my heart when I'd had to leave him. Mom and Matt had moved out to Blue Bell to be closer to Matt's office while my job had kept me on the Main Line, and I hadn't been able to find an apartment that would let me have a dog. Not one that I could afford anyway.

When we pulled into the driveway, I got one heck of a homecoming. No sooner did Matt open the door than Hondo came literally flying outside, knocked me down, and started attacking my face with his tongue. It took two minutes and the combined effort of me, the twins, and Matt to haul him off of me. Even then, he wouldn't calm down; he kept trying to stand up and lick my face.

The welcome abruptly ended when the rest of the team tried to head inside to help my family pack their things. Hondo snapped right back into guard dog mode, getting between them and the doorway and snapping at anyone who dared come close. It took another few minutes to convince him that Dominique and company were friends and to get him introduced and acclimated to everyone. That was time we didn't have. We ended up running into the house, throwing random articles of clothing into suitcases, and piling them, the dogs, and the dogs' things into the backs of the SUVs (which were already filled with our guns and gear) and my parents' Mazda minivan.

The ride back up to Scranton turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. Hondo insisted on riding with me, and no one really had the heart to force him out of the Expedition (either that or he still freaked everyone out enough that they left him alone.) It was a two hour ride, and in that time Hondo became fast friends with Shannon, Dominique, Scotty, and Chris.

That all changed once we got to the compound. Sure, the dogs went crazy examining their new surroundings, but I didn't have time to enjoy that.

Mom and Matt didn't really take to the compound. Okay, scratch that. They hated it. I'm sure by the time I finished high school, they were worried that I was going to end up living in a paramilitary compound in the middle of the woods somewhere. Their worst nightmare had just about come true. Not the fact that they'd just learned that all of the B-grade horror film monsters are real, though that certainly wasn't helping matters, but rather the knowledge that I lived in a place where everyone went around packing heat and carried assault rifles for a living. My mother and stepfather are committed pacifists: they hate guns.

Plus, they were very much ticked at the fact that I was being hunted by a Master Vampire and hadn't bothered to warn them, considering the fact that Robert might decide to use them to get to me. Being informed that in four hundred plus years of recorded Monster history, there have only been three known instances of vampires holding blood feuds didn't ease their fury at me.

Anyway, Dominique headed to her office to call Earl and inform him about our little wight encounter while the rest of us helped move my family into our remaining guest quarters. The compound was suddenly very crowded. The eight of us, plus Owen and Julie, plus my parents, two brothers, and five dogs made for very little personal space in the main building.

Once everyone was settled in, I took Hondo and the beagles for a long walk around the compound whilst giving Jake and Terry a tour of the place. Mom and Matt declined to accompany us. I kept my FAL slung over my shoulder just in case we got attacked again, and Chris and Owen came with us, bringing their guns as well. We weren't really expecting Robert to try and hit us at the compound again, but just in case…

Dominique was waiting for us when we got back to the main building. I could tell she had news, and somehow I knew it wouldn't be good. I shooed the twins and the dogs inside before asking her what was going on.

"I just got off the phone with Earl. He'd already heard about what had happened and he's pissed."

"How'd he manage that?" I asked.

"He has a, uh, contact in the MCB," Owen explained. From his tone, I gathered that he didn't care for Earl's contact. I got the feeling that Earl probably didn't like the guy much either.

"What's the situation?" Chris asked her.

"Robert's now our number-one priority," Dominique said.

"You mean the team's?" I asked.

"I mean the company's." I blinked in surprise.

"Come again?"

"Civilians got caught in the crossfire," Dominique explained, "He's upped the ante on us. We figure it's only a matter of time before he starts deliberately targeting civilians to draw us out. We need to take him down before that happens."

We all nodded at that. She was right; the stakes had been raised dramatically tonight. If we didn't take the fight to Robert soon, innocent people were going to get hurt. We couldn't let that happen. Still, I couldn't help but think about…

"What about Odette?" I asked.

"She's going to have to roll with it," Dominique replied. "She doesn't have a choice."

"What if she tries to stop us from taking him out?" Owen asked, "Tries to protect her?"

"We can't let her do that."

"I know that, but—"

"No, you don't." At our puzzled looks, she continued. "The Feds have Robert at the top of the PUFF list now; he's their number-one priority too. And if they find out that one of ours is protecting a high-level Master Vamp—"

"They'll shut us down in half a heartbeat," Chris finished.

"No, they'll probably take Odette out to make sure she won't interfere, then shut us down in half a heartbeat." I felt my blood chill a few degrees.

"You're serious?"

"Yeah. The Feds will do anything to stop Master Vamps. That includes taking out anyone they might think is aiding them. Word gets out that Odette still has feelings for Robert…" she trailed off, but I knew. If the Feds found out she still loved him, then she'd find herself on the wrong end of a sniper rifle. I felt like throwing up.

Dominique said something to Chris and Owen. Maybe she was talking to me too, I don't know; I wasn't paying attention. The three of them headed inside. I followed, more on instinct than anything else.

Mom, Matt, and the twins were staying on the first floor, in our second guest suite. I walked right passed it. I found myself walking up the steps to the second floor; the team's quarters. I stopped outside Odette's room.

The door was open. I looked in to see her sitting on the sofa. The television was on, it was some random Prime Time show, but she was ignoring it, instead trying to bore a hole through the wall above the TV with her thousand-yard stare. I rapped gently on the doorframe. She turned and looked over at me.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Can I come in?"

"Sure."

I walked in and sat down next to her. She went back to staring at the wall, ignoring me. I started to absently study whatever was on the TV. It was one of those "real-life drama" shows, and I quickly decided that it was crap. Actually, calling it crap would be doing it a favor. After a moment of very uncomfortable silence, I spoke.

"Dominique talked to Earl. He said that Robert…"

"…is our number-one priority, I know," Odette finished, "She told me too." Her eyes hadn't moved from the wall.

"Oh," was all I could think to say. That awkward silence draped back over us.

"Earl's right, you know," I ventured after a moment, "He is a threat. Not just to us, but to everyone. We have to take him out."

"I know," Odette snapped, still staring at the wall. "I get it, okay? I know he's dangerous, I know we're going to have to kill him, I know he's evil now!" She sighed. "But that doesn't make it any easier." She whispered that last part; I doubt she meant for me to hear it.

"I'm sorry," I said, "I just… I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm already hurt." I saw a tear start to flow down her cheek. She blinked it back, sniffled, and went right back to staring a hole in the wall. I just sat there, absently watching the TV. It was at a commercial break now, thank God. I felt like crap. Every time I tried to make her feel better, I completely screwed things up.

A high-pitched whining in the doorway grabbed my attention. I looked over to see Hondo sitting just outside of the room, a mournful light in his eyes.

"What's up with him?" Odette asked.

"I think he wants to come in. Is that all right?" Odette considered it for a minute.

"Okay, sure, whatever."

"C'mere Hondo," I said, pointing at the floor in front of the sofa. Hondo needed no second bidding and quickly trotted into the room, his claws clacking on the vinyl flooring. To my surprise, he completely brushed passed me, instead walking right up to Odette and setting his big head down in her lap.

"What's he doing?" Odette asked nervously. She still wasn't all that comfortable around Hondo, and with the bad rep the Rottweiler's picked up over the years (unfairly if you ask me), I couldn't really blame her.

"I think he wants you to give him a scratch behind the ears."

"Are you sure? He's not going to bite me or anything, right?"

"Nah, he only does that to burglars."

"Okay…" she hesitantly reached down and slowly stroked his head. Hondo gave a contented sigh and closed his eyes.

"I think he likes you," I said after a moment.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. Uh, what's he doing?" Odette had stopped petting him, so he turned his head to look at her. The look on his face said 'What the heck did you stop for? I was enjoying that.'

"He's annoyed that you stopped."

"You're kidding. I just petted him."

"I know, but he didn't get enough love."

"Oh brother." She started scratching him behind the ear again anyway. After a minute, a soft smile appeared on her face.

"Yeah, dogs are great like that."

"What do you mean?"

"They know when you're hurting, and they do everything they can to make you feel better."

"By guilt-tripping you into petting them?"

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"See? That's why I love dogs."

"Why?"

"They'll do anything for you. They love you absolutely unconditionally. All they want you to do is love them back just as much."

"Really? I never knew that. We never had pets as a kid; Mom has allergies up the ying-yang."

"That sucks. Dogs are the best. Well, except for Lulu. She's an evil little bugger."

"Your mom's poodle? But she's so adorable!"

"Yeah, and she milks it for all its worth. She's a conniving, manipulative, evil little thing. Loves to torture Hondo, the beagles, and me, then go running to Mom when we snap at her."

"I don't believe that!"

"Just wait, she'll do it to you too, I guarantee it."

Odette laughed that pretty laugh of hers, and Hondo let his tongue loll out of his mouth and started panting; his version of a laugh. I joined in.

"Feel better now?"

"Yeah, thanks," she said. "Thanks, Hondo." I swear that the Rottweiler puffed his chest out and beamed when she said that.

"Not a problem," I said, "That's why we're here. Wanna go grab some dinner?" Hondo abruptly lurched to his feet and darted out into the hallway.

"What is it?" Odette asked, suddenly nervous.

"Oh, brother," I said as I facepalmed myself. "Hondo, I swear…"

"What's going on?"

"I said D-I-N-N-E-R. He knows what that word means, and he knows there's food involved."

"Wow. He really is a smart dog."

"Yeah, one that thinks with his stomach. We'd better get down to the cafeteria before he charms the rest of the team into feeding him from their plates."


	19. Chapter 20: New Nightmare

The next few weeks passed by very slowly. Mom and Matt weren't thrilled with being stuck in the compound. More specifically, they weren't thrilled about having to cohabitate with nearly a dozen heavily armed and very lethal paramilitary wackos in a compound filled with enough firepower to fight World War III. While they weren't very vocal with their displeasure, they still gave pretty much everyone in the compound an icy attitude. The only real exceptions were Jon – who my mother still liked despite him, to put it in her words, "turning my son into a crazy Right-Wing paranoid gun nut" – and Odette. I guess they sympathized with her losing Robert the way she had. That actually surprised me; I'd expected out-and-out hostility towards her, considering her undead former fiancé was the reason they were stuck here.

Jake and Terry, on the other hand, had quickly become infatuated by the whole idea of Monster Hunting. They picked every team member's brain about everything Monster; what was real and what wasn't, where they lived, what they ate, how to kill them, you name it, they asked it. It was actually kind of nice… for the first two days. Then it got pretty annoying. Only good thing was that they finally let me teach them how to shoot. They turned out to be quick studies, and proved to actually be pretty good. Surprisingly, though, despite being identical twins, each of their favorite weapons turned out to be anything but: Jake soon favored the M25 sniper rifle (basically a super-accurized M14) while Terry went with the M60 machine gun. Mom was not thrilled that I'd finally succeeded in "corrupting her sons with my violent nature." I didn't care: I'd already moved out, so there was nothing left for her to hold over my head.

As if dealing with my family wasn't enough, the team also had Jon to deal with. He'd started mourning the loss of his beloved SR-25 the second we hit the highway back to Scranton. Apparently he'd been using the rifle ever since he'd joined MHI, and he was pretty broken up about losing it. I kind of thought it was silly, but then again, I'd only been using my FAL for a few months and I was already getting pretty attached to it.

Picking a new rifle proved to be a chore too. Jon wanted a new SR-25 but both Dominique and Julie pointed out that it wasn't the most accurate semi-auto platform on the market ,something Jon would readily admit to. It was the alternatives they suggested that caused the problem: Julie suggested an accurized M14 like hers, which was nice, but not an AR platform, and Dominique almost gave him an aneurism when she came out in favor of the H&K PSG-1. For as long as I've known him, Jon has hated Heckler & Koch firearms with a burning passion, calling them over-hyped, over-rated, over-priced pieces of junk. I personally didn't really agree to this sentiment (I'd shot a USP45 once and found it to be okay. Not great, but okay), but Jon would not be swayed.

Fortunately, bloodshed was avoided when I interceded and suggested a Crusader Broadsword: a .308 AR-style battle rifle made by the same guys who build my Partisan and the Warhammer which formed the basis of Shannon's Boudica. Jon knew my Partisan well (he'd pretty much stolen it for a week shortly after I'd arrived up here), knew it was good quality, and jumped on the idea. The guys at Crusader were great: within weeks, his custom-built Broadsword arrived at our local dealer. He'd gone with the eighteen-inch barrel and had it outfitted with a match trigger, MagPul PRS stock, a Harriss bipod, and a Schmidt & Bender scope. It was love at first sight.

As if all that wasn't enough, the team still had missions to fulfill. They went after a lyndwyrm in the nearby coal mine (you don't want to hear about that one), some goblins up in Maine, harpies in NYC (with the mayor hounding them with weapons violations the whole time) and what turned out to be harmless Sasquatch sighting out near Pittsburg.

I say "they" because I wasn't with them. I was assigned, by direct orders from Earl Harbinger himself, to remain the compound at all times. Thankfully, Odette was kind enough to stay behind and keep me company. She helped to keep Jake and Terry from hounding me all the time, and she also help out with Hondo. He'd really taken a liking to her, and the feeling was mutual. I'd never seen anyone warm up to my Rottie that fast before; the breed's reputation as vicious baby-killers lead most people I'd met to keep their distance from him for a long time.

As all this was going on, I slowly but surely worked at rebuilding The Beast. The body and frame had been professionally restored – all the rust had been removed and replaced with fresh sheet metal – and the Hotchkis suspension package was added at the same time. Slowly, the old GTO went back together, piece by piece. Again, the whole team pitched in, as did Jake and Terry. Mom knew absolutely zilch about cars, and while Matt said I should've spent my money on something more practical and in much better shape, he helped out occasionally too. Personally, I think he was just jealous: I once heard him speak wistfully of his college roommates' then-new '68 Oldsmobile 442.

After a few weeks, The Beast was nearly complete; all that was left to do was send it off for a fresh coat of paint. Lucky for me, Dominique had a younger brother who owned an auto-paint shop nearby (turns out she's from a family of gear-heads) which was, in her opinion, the best paint shop on the East Coast. Given how much she'd contributed so far to the build, I didn't doubt her, so we loaded The Beast onto the back of a flatbed and sent it off to Eli (Dominique's brother) to work his magic on.

The night before The Beast was scheduled to return, I had The Dream again.

I tore down the Ben Franklin Parkway, the Beast's big V8 howling its unearthly bellow. I watched through the windshield as the gargoyle – it was definitely holding something in its talons – tucked in its wings and plunged like an old WWII dive bomber through the roof of the Art Museum. I parked at the base of the rocky steps and leapt from the big Pontiac, grabbing my guns and katana – I didn't have the wakazashi this time for some reason – and fastening them to my armor as I charged up the steps and into the museum. I knew where Robert was: same place as always, Medieval Arms and Armor. I walked coolly into the room, didn't run. Robert was waiting for me.

Then the dream changed.

Odette was there. I couldn't believe it: she was standing next to Robert. She was still human, hadn't been bitten, hadn't been turned, but she was still next to him. Like she'd joined him.

Robert didn't hesitate. He smashed his fist into a display case and yanked out a basket-hilted sword. I vaguely recognized the design – a scimitar from the Middle East. No sooner was the blade in his hand than he charged me. He was unnaturally fast, covering the great room in seconds. I barely had time to raise my FAL before he'd covered three-quarters of the distance. I fired as fast as I could pull the trigger. It was like I was shooting spitballs; he didn't even flinch.

Then he was on me, hacking savagely at my head. I barely ducked his strike as I let the empty FAL fall away and yanked the Mossberg from my back scabbard. I backpedaled away from him, firing as fast as I could work the action, pumping four ounces of solid silver into his head at near-contact distance. He screamed in pain as the silver burned his flesh, but the wounds were healed before he even felt them.

He hacked at me, driving his blade straight down towards my skull. He'd have cleaved me in two if I hadn't raised my shotgun up like a bo staff and caught the blade. The ancient metal, genuine Damascus steel sharper than the finest razor, cleaved into the shotgun's aluminum receiver but didn't penetrate all the way through the weapon. I snap-kicked Robert in the neck, knocking him back and pulling the shotgun off of the sword. I snapped the weapon to my shoulder and fired.

The Mossberg blew up in my face. The sword had penetrated into the shotgun's chamber, compromising it.

I went down screaming, clutching at my face and arms as shards of hot metal, gas, and burning powder assaulted me. I heard Odette scream. Then Robert was on me. My eyes were burning, watering, I barely saw him. I stumbled back as he swung at my legs. The blow would have cleaved through my knees. It barely missed; the point of the blade raked through my upper thighs.

I let out a howl of pain as I fell to my knees. I grabbed at the SIG in my thigh holster, snapping it up and emptying it just as Robert swung at me again. He was aiming to take my arm off at the shoulder. The nine lead-and-silver hollowpoints distracted him just long enough for me to roll out of the way. I tried to rise to my feet, but my legs wouldn't take the weight.

Robert turned on me again as I pulled the baby SIG from my shoulder rig – wait, when had I started wearing one of those? – and emptied it into him. Seven more silver-and-lead PowR-Balls lanced into his neck and chest, buying me just enough time to draw my Katana and block his next swing.

Now the fight turned. He was fast, inhumanly fast, but he didn't have the proper training. I did. I expertly parried every single one of his attacks, got in a few of my own too. They hurt him – he screamed in pain each time my blade sliced through his flesh – but I couldn't reach for the fatal decapitation shot that I needed.

The end was inevitable. I was on my knees, unable to stand, unable to move. I was blocking, parrying, and attacking like an expert _kendoka_, but sooner or later, I had to miss.

It happened. Robert feinted for my neck, then brought his scimitar down towards my wrists. I blocked, too slow. His blade rode down mine, slicing through the _tsuba_ and down the ray skin-wrapped hilt.

The katana fell from my grasp as my fingers fell from my hands. Strangely, there was no pain. I screamed anyway.

Robert drove his foot into my chest, breaking ribs, snapping muscles, and sending my sliding across the floor. That hurt. A lot.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, unable to move, barely able to breathe, unable to do anything really besides feel excruciating pain. Then Robert was standing above me. His scimitar was gone; in his hands now was a wicked-looking crossbow. The string was drawn back, a heavy bolt was loaded in place. I tried to pull myself away, but I couldn't get traction on the blood-slicked marble floor.

Robert slowly lowered the weapon, an evil smile on his face, until the bolt was leveled at my throat. I heard Odette scream again. Then Robert squeezed the trigger, and my body exploded with pain.


	20. Chapter 20: Unexpected Visitor

_Clunk!_

Another loaded cartridge fell into the bin. I loaded another case and another bullet into the press and smoothly pulled the leaver again. A primer was loaded into one case, a second case was flared open, powder was shot into a third, a bullet pressed into a fourth, and the fifth case crimped around its bullet. I slowly pushed the lever forward.

_Clunk!_

The shelf lowered, the plate auto-indexed, and another loaded cartridge fell into the bin. I loaded another bullet and another case into the press and repeated the process again.

I was in the compound's armory, which was in the basement of the main building. I was sitting off in the corner at one of the reloading presses. I'd been here for hours, ever since I'd calmed down after awaking from the nightmare.

I'd taken up handloading shortly after Jon's Broadsword had arrived at the local gunshop. Even with the customizations, it had still arrived far faster than anyone had expected. I'd gone with him to pick it up, and while Jon had filled out the Form 4473 and waited for the background check to come through (stupid laws), I'd idly started browsing the counter, looking at pistols. I wasn't looking for anything in particular – I just like to look at guns – but they'd grabbed my attention the moment I spotted them.

It's not often that one sees a Smith & Wesson 3rd Generation automatic in a gun store anymore. Two 3rd Gens are incredibly rare. A matched set is almost unheard of nowadays. But this particular set? The odds of it appearing at all, let alone the very day I decided to walk into the gun store, are so low that I can't even pronounce it.

It was a pair of 10mm Autos, one a full-size 1026, the other a short-barreled 1076. The 1026 hadn't been very popular, apparently because it featured a SIG-Sauer style decoking lever on the frame rather than S&W's traditional slide-mounted safety. The 1076 had proven more successful, probably owing to its brief adoption by the FBI back in the early 90's. Even so, both pistols were only produced for a few years, with only a handful of 1026s and a few thousand 1076s leaving the factory before S&W discontinued its line of 10mm's.

I'd been lusting after a S&W 10mm for years, and according to the guy behind the counter, these two were practically new-in-box, each having fired only a handful of rounds.

When Jon left the gun store with his new Broadsword, I had myself a new pair of pistols.

Even better, Dominique had informed the team a few days earlier that MHI's ammo supplier was in the process of cooking up a full-charge 10mm load for us, so I'd be able to carry them while Hunting. But before I could do that, I had to get proficient with my new pistols. And to do that, I needed a lot of full-charge 10mm loads to practice with.

Unfortunately, 10mm ammo is pretty rare nowadays, and most of the stuff you can find is based on the wussy FBI-Lite load that the Bureau adopted after its agents started whining about recoil. What little full-power stuff is out there is very limited in terms of bullet weight and type, and all of the loads are incredibly expensive. Hence my taking up handloading. It allowed me to create the exact type of load I wanted, and for a fraction of the price of store-bought ammo. Chris had helped me learn the ropes and had worked with me to develop a really sweet load for my pistols: 180 grain Hornady XTP hollowpoints with a muzzle velocity of just over 1350 feet per second. That's more energy at the muzzle than a .357 Magnum.

This was the load that I was cranking out right then. Now, I know you're not supposed to reload if you're distracted or have something big on your mind, but for some reason, reloading helps me to get my mind off of whatever might be bothering me. Maybe it was because I had to devote my complete and absolute concentration on the task, I don't know. All I know is that it helped me focus my mind on something other than my worries.

Unfortunately for me, that night it wasn't working too well. I kept flashing back to the dream, to Robert slicing my fingers off and shooting me in the throat point-blank with that crossbow.

I sighed, pushed the lever back again and snatched the freshly-loaded cartridge out of the air as the reloading press kicked it into the bin. I put it on an ultra-precise digital scale, then measured it a set of digital calipers. Both weight and length were identical to the parameters Chris and I had come up with for the load. Just like the other thirty samples I'd checked in the last hour or so.

I finished loading the last four casings in the press but didn't load any new ones. I couldn't focus at all. It was a miracle that I hadn't found any overcharged or otherwise out-of-spec rounds in my spot checks, and with the way my concentration was failing, it was only a matter of time before I started cranking them out.

This new version of the dream had left me genuinely scared. Robert had never actually killed me in the dream before, and Dominique, Earl, Owen, and Julie were convinced that the dream was actually a vision of the future. Did that mean I was going to die? And worse, Odette was with him. She hadn't looked like she'd been turned or enthralled. Had she willingly joined him?

It was just too much for me to deal with. I got up and headed over to the sink on the other side of the room to wash my hands. I needed to get back to bed, even though I knew I wouldn't sleep.

As I started to stand, I caught a flash of movement in the corner of my eye and whirled towards it, hand reaching for the baby SIG holstered behind my back.

"Oh," I said stupidly as I saw who it was. "Hi."

"Hi," Odette replied. "What are you doing down here?"

"Couldn't sleep, so I decided to do some handloading. What're you doing down here?"

"I woke up starving hungry so I went to the kitchen to get something to eat, only I heard some noise down here and came down to investigate." I raised my eyebrows.

"Alone and unarmed?" It wasn't like her to be that careless.

"Well, I didn't want to wake anyone up, and anyway I figured Hondo would start barking up a storm if anyone broke in."

"Okay, that's fair, but still, unarmed?"

"Umm… hello?" She raised her arms slightly, and only then did I notice the Smith & Wesson 4516 in her right hand. I spotted the H&K UMP slung over her shoulder a second later.

"D'oh." I facepalmed myself. "Okay, touché. Sorry. One thing though; you should've come in with the UMP as your primary. Pistols are for fighting your way to a long gun, remember?" I said, echoing the phrase that Owen had pounded into our heads back during Newbie training.

"Oh, yeah, that's right. Sorry."

"Hey, no harm, no foul."

"Yes, but still… well, anyway, I'm sorry I interrupted you."

"Don't be, I just finished." Odette gave a little sigh of relief. "Do you mind if I come with you?" I asked.

"With me…"

"To the kitchen."

"Oh, right. No, not at all."

"Thanks, just give me a second to get this stuff cleaned up…" I quickly screwed the cap back on the powder keg and replaced the casings, bullets, and primers in the appropriate boxes before quickly washing my hands and then joining Odette out in the hallway.

"So…" She said as we started towards the stairs.

"So…" I replied. "…uh… do you always pack heat when you go midnight snacking?"

"Yes… well, sort of… I carry my pistol pretty much all the time now, but I didn't get the UMP until after I'd heard you down in the basement."

I nodded in reply, and we drifted into an uneasy silence. Uneasy for me, at least; I still couldn't get this new version of the dream out of my head. I looked over at Odette. Would she really join Robert?

"What?" Odette's voice shattered my thoughts.

"What what?"

"You were looking at me funny."

"No I wasn't."

"Yes you were."

"I was?

"Yes, you were. What's up?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look like you've got something on your mind. Actually, no. You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, "Forget it."

"You could fool me," Odette replied.

"Really, it's nothing," I insisted, "Don't worry about it."

"Stephen, whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I said it's nothing!" That came out a little sharper than I meant it to. Odette turned away from me and increased her pace, a hurt look spreading over her face. "Odette, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you."

"No, you're right, I shouldn't have bothered you. It's fine." The tone of her voice made it clear that it wasn't.

"Odette, I'm really sorry—"

"Like you said, forget it." For the umpteenth time, I mentally kicked myself. Why the hell couldn't I stop hurting her every time I opened my mouth?

Odette ignored me as she marched up the stairs to the ground floor. I trailed after her, not really knowing what else to do.

No sooner had we reached a kitchen than Odette made a beeline for the fridge, yanked the door open, and stuck her head inside. I trotted up behind her and peeked in over her shoulder.

"Ooh, hey! We've got Nutella! Ow!" I reached in to grab the chocolate-hazelnut spread, only to have Odette suddenly slap my hand away. "What was that for?"

"You can help yourself to anything else, but _do not touch my Nutella_." The edge in her voice was uncomfortably similar to how Earl Harbinger sounded when he was getting angry. I quickly withdrew from the fridge and scampered over to the cabinets.

A few quick minutes of scrounging turned up a spoon, a bowl, and a box of Honey Nut Cheerios. By the time I'd poured myself a bowl, Odette was already seated at the table, munching on a piece of bread that had been slathered with Nutella. I slid into the seat across from her.

As I lifted a spoonful of cereal to my mouth, I flashed back to the dream. Oddly, it wasn't Robert killing me; it was Odette. She'd been there, she's been standing next to him. She hadn't been turned, and she hadn't looked like she'd been enthralled. I couldn't think of any reason why she's be there, except one. I hoped and prayed that I was wrong.

"What?"

"Huh?" I looked up to find my spoon halfway between the bowl and my mouth, and Odette giving me a very concerned look.

"You spaced out on me again. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding my head 'yes,' only to start shaking my head 'no' a second later. "No, not really. I had the dream again. Sort of, anyway."

"Sort of?"

"It was… it was different this time."

"Different? How?"

"Robert killed me."

"Killed you? Didn't he do that when you had the dream before?"

"Not really. In the other two times, he'd but a sword to my throat, then I'd wake up. This time, he cut my fingers off, beat the crap out of me, then shot me with a crossbow."

"Oh, wow." Then the impact of what I'd just said hit her. "Wait… you think… you think he's going to kill you? For real, I mean."

"Yep, that about sums it up."

"You don't know—" she said, but I cut her off.

"Think about it. Dr. Bryson warns me about a threat, then we start getting attacked by Monsters. I see Robert in my dreams, then we find out he's alive, or, undead… you know what I mean. Dr. Bryson told me to watch out for The Beast, and look what happened there. My dreams are real, Odette. Why should this one be any different?"

"You can't know that," she insisted.

"Maybe not, but like I said, look at my track record: I'm three for three so far."

"But…" I guess she couldn't figure out how to reply to that, since we lapsed into an uncomfortable silence for a few moments.

"There's something else, isn't there?" She finally asked.

"Yeah…" I said slowly, not meaning to, but it slipped out anyway.

"Tell me."

"You…" I sighed, taking in a deep breath before slowly telling her the part of the dream that frightened me the most. "You were there."

"What?"

"You were there, in the room with him. You hadn't been turned, hadn't been enthralled, hadn't even been bitten as far as I could tell. You were just there, standing with him, almost like…" I couldn't bear to finish the thought.

"Almost like what?" she pressed. I hesitated for a moment, then caved. I couldn't refuse the desperate edge in her voice.

"It was almost like… like you'd joined him."

Odette slumped back in her chair and started staring a hole in the wall. I went back to my Cheerios for a moment, then paused again. Something wasn't right. Something about Odette. She hadn't been surprised when I'd told her I thought she'd joined him; she'd barely reacted at all. That made no sense to me. Why wouldn't she be surprised by that revelation? Unless… No. No, that couldn't be possible. Could it?

"Odette, ah, you're not… you aren't thinking about maybe joining Robert?" I asked. Odette didn't reply, didn't so much as blink. "Are you?" Odette didn't move for a second, then her eyes flicked downward for a split second. My blood chilled a few degrees. I couldn't believe it. "Odette, you can't!" I exclaimed.

"Why not?" she asked.

"You can't join him! You'll be a vampire, a slave to evil for all eternity!" I didn't say that MHI would have to kill her if she did. I couldn't stand to think that.

"I don't want to be a vampire!" Odette shouted. A tear welled up in the corner of her eye.

"Then why join him? Odette, he's gone!"

"You don't know that."

"You think you can bring him back? Odette, Robert's gone. He's not coming back. This isn't _Star Wars_, you're not Luke and he's not Vader. He can't be redeemed; you can't bring him back!"

"How do you know that?" she screamed. Tears were flowing freely down her face now. "You can't know that!"

"He's right, Odette," a deep bass voice said, "You can't bring Robert back."

I whirled around in my chair towards the source of the voice, then felt my heart skip a beat and my jaw drop. _No freakin' way!_ Odette sat up, startled, then leapt from her chair and grabbed her UMP off the table.

"Don't you move!" she screamed as she snapped the weapon to her shoulder. The sound of the safety coming off was deafening.

"No!" I shouted, jumping to my feet and shoving the sugbun's muzzle to the floor. "Hold your fire!"

"Get off!" Odette replied, "He's a threat! Hit the alarm!"

"He's not a threat!"

"Then what the hell is he? Who the hell is he?"

I took a deep breath, steadying myself as I shook my head. I couldn't freakin' believe it.

"Odette," I said, "Meet the Reverend Doctor Thomas Bryson."


	21. Chapter 21: Facing the Terrible Truth

"Doctor Bryson? But… isn't he dead?" Odette asked, almost dropping her subgun in surprise.

"Yeah, he is," I replied. "Which reminds me, how are you even here? No, wait, nevermind. It's complicated."

"It is, literally," Doctor Bryson replied, "Physical manifestation is rather difficult to achieve. I only discovered how to do it properly fairly recently. Dream appearances are much easier for us."

"Oh. Okay," I said stupidly, "So… why are you here? Is it about Robert again?"

"Partly," Doctor Bryson said, "but—"

"Is Stephen going to die?" Odette's sudden question caught us both by surprise. Doctor Bryson turned for face her, and I knew right away what Doctor Bryson was going to say to her.

"I can't tell you, Odette. I'm sorry."

And I was right. Personally, I was getting kinda sick of hearing that.

"Okay," I said, "so now that that's out of the way, why are you here? Can you tell us any more about Robert's plan?"

"Actually," he replied, "this time I need to speak with Odette."

"Me?" Odette exclaimed at the exact instant I said "Her?" Odette gave me a hurt look.

"I didn't mean it like that!" I said quickly, "It's just that I thought he'd be here to talk to me because he always talks to me and, uh, and… sh- ah… nuts." I mentally hit myself, both for slamming Odette like that and for almost using course language in front of Doctor Bryson. I respected him too much for that. And why the hell did I keep acting like a complete jerk every time I talked to Odette? Jeez…

"Yes, Odette," Doctor Bryson continued, ignoring my latest contraction of foot-in-mouth syndrome, "I am here to speak with you."

"But… why me? Why not Steve? Doesn't he need to know more about his dream or something?"

"Stephen already knows everything that he will need to know for the upcoming battle," Doctor Bryson replied.

"Uh, actually, I don't know everything," I said, "like who the two people I'm going to have to choose between are and whether or not I'm going to _die_ fighting Robert. Those I would really like to know more about, if you don't mind."

"So what do I need to know?" Odette asked.

"The truth about Robert."

"Fine, go ahead and ignore me," I muttered under my breath, "No, really, I enjoy it. Please continue."

"What truth?" A great sorrow enveloped Doctor Bryson's face as he spoke.

"The Robert you knew is gone, Odette. There's nothing left of him. You cannot bring him back." Tears began to well up anew in Odette's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No," she said softly, fighting back a sob, "No, I can't believe that. There is something left of him in there. There has to be."

"There is nothing left," Doctor Bryson said again as he sadly shook his head, "His soul has been destroyed, and in its place there is only evil, hatred, and pain."

"Pain?"

"Not physical pain," Doctor Bryson explained, "It's a longing, a desire that can never be fulfilled."

"Desire for what?"

"Power. No matter how many lives he takes, no matter how much blood he drinks, no matter how many creatures or humans he brings under his command, it will never be enough to satisfy his desire for power."

"Why not? He has to be one of the most powerful things on Earth how can he not be satisfied with that?"

"Because he is a slave to evil. He is the most powerful creature on the planet, and yet he is still bound in servitude to the Dark One."

"You mean Satan," I said. Doctor Bryson nodded.

"Correct. Robert is completely bound to his master's commands; he has no choice but to carry them out. He is a being of incredible power, but that power is eternally bound to the will of another."

"But… but if I went to him," Odette said, "I… I could help him break free."

"There is no breaking free from that," Doctor Bryson said, "Robert is literally trapped in Hell-on-Earth now. If you were to go to him, he would turn you."

"No! I would never become like him!"

"He would tempt you. He would offer you anything and everything you could ever desire. But it would all be a lie; all he can do is make you a slave, both to him and to his Dark Master." For a long moment, the three of us just stood there. Odette looked like someone had just punched her in the gut, and I felt like I was going to puke.

"There's… there's no hope?" Odette finally asked, the barest trace of hope creeping into her voice.

"None," Doctor Bryson replied sadly, "I'm sorry, Odette. The man you loved is truly gone."

Odette slowly set her UMP down on the table before collapsing in her chair, tears now flowing down her cheeks. I looked over at Doctor Bryson.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but she needed to understand the truth."

"I know," I said, unable to completely contain my anger. I really did know he was right, but still… "Did you have to tear her up like that? You just crushed the last hope she had—"

"That Robert wasn't really gone?" Doctor Bryson asked, giving me the same look he'd given the congregation when he'd asked a rhetorical question as part of one of his sermons. "It was a false hope, Stephen. There was no chance of her bringing Robert back to the Light. If she'd gone to him, all she would have succeeded in doing would be to—"

"—get herself turned into a vamp," I finished, "I know. But, still…" I gestured towards Odette. She was doing her best to keep it together, but her composure was breaking apart faster than the USSR did back in the '90s. Tears were flowing down her cheeks like a waterfall, and her shoulders were starting to shake. I moved towards her to try and comfort her, but Doctor Bryson was suddenly standing next to her.

"Here," he said, "let me…" he trailed off as he started to reach for Odette's head with both hands. I suddenly got a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"Wait," I said, "what are you…" Too late. Doctor Bryson gently pressed his fingers against the sides of Odette's head. She gasped, her eyes going wide, her mouth falling open, her posture becoming bone-rigid.

"NO! Stop! Leave her alone!" My Baby SIG was suddenly in my hand, hammer back, leveled at Doctor Bryson's head. I could not – and still cannot – remember actually drawing it.

"No," Odette said, "It's okay." I slowly thumbed the SIG's decocking lever, dropping the hammer, but didn't lower the pistol. Something was off about her voice. It took me a second to figure out – she wasn't upset anymore. She sounded… happy? What the hell?

"What did you do to her?" I asked as Doctor Bryson released her.

"He helped me to remember," Odette said.

"Remember what?"

"Robert."

"Huh?" I shot Doctor Bryson a quizzical glance.

"She'd been repressing her memories of Robert," he explained, "Cutting off all of the joyful moments the two of them had shared. She was trying to ease her pain, but she'd only made it worse because all she saw of him was his death and his becoming a vampire."

"You didn't hurt her?"

"No," Odette said, "He helped me." I slowly, very slowly, lowered the SIG and re-holstered it. "Thank you," she said to Doctor Bryson. He just nodded in reply, then turned to me. I knew the look on his face; it was the one he'd given the congregation during sermons about the fall of humanity.

"Yeah…" I said sheepishly, "uh, sorry about the whole pointing-a-gun-at-you thing." He ignored me.

"I was wrong."

"About what?"

"About you knowing everything you need to know for defeating Robert."

"Okay… what don't I know?"

"You won't be able to defeat him alone," Doctor Bryson said solemnly.

"I won't be alone," I assured him, "I'll have Odette, the team, and probably the rest of MHI backing me up. Heck, the Feds'll probably show up too just for kicks."

"You know that isn't what I meant," he replied. I sighed, suddenly feeling very frustrated.

"You know what? I'm getting sick and tired of people telling me things like that."

"Perhaps, but you know it is the truth," Doctor Bryson said.

"The truth?" I said, not bothering to mask my rising anger, "The truth is that I prayed for Chad to live, that I prayed for _you_ to live, that I prayed _every single day _for my father to stop abusing us, and what happened?

"Why did you pray?" he asked.

"Huh? What does that have to do with anything?"

"You prayed for Chad and myself to live," Doctor Bryson continued, sounding exactly as he had when delivering sermons, "because you said you couldn't live without us. You prayed for your father to stop hurting you because you said you wouldn't be able to survive it. And yet you are still here, all these years later."

"You…" my rage was building so rapidly that I could barely think straight enough to form a sentence, "You taught me… you taught me that if I prayed in my hour of need, He would answer me! And He didn't answer!"

"He gave you what you needed."

"_Needed!_ I didn't need you to die! I needed you to teach me, to help me get through Chad's—"

"I could not be your guide forever," Doctor Bryson said, "You needed to find your own path."

"_That's_ why Chad died?" I screamed, "That's why my father hit us? So I could get closer to God?"

"I'm sorry it had to be like this," Doctor Bryson said, "I truly am." And the worst part was that I could tell he meant it. "It was not the only reason; you know what your father did to Chad, you know how badly that affected him, you know how much pain he was in. It was time for his suffering to end."

"So you lied to me," I spat, "You said that in my hour of need—"

"I taught you that in your hour of _greatest_ need, that if you called out to the Lord, he would answer," Doctor Bryson corrected. My rage hadn't phased him one iota; he was still standing and speaking as if he was at the pulpit.

"Semantics," I snarled, "You still lied."

"I did not lie to you," he said pointedly, "Your hour of greatest need has not arrived yet."

"Get out!" I snarled, so angry that I could barely see straight, "Get out now!" His face fell.

"I'm sorry, Stephen," he said sadly. Then he was gone. My jaw dropped. He hadn't faded out, of vanished in a flash of light or anything like that: he'd just up and disappeared. For a long moment, I just stared at the spot where he'd been, my anger slowly dissipating.

"Are you all right?" Odette finally asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," I lied. I suddenly felt very much like a steaming pile of shit. "How about you? Are you okay?"

"I'm all right," she said.

"You sure?"

"I'm okay, Steve," she assured me.

"What did he do to you?"

"Like he said, he brought all of those memories of Robert – the good ones – back to the surface. And he made me realize the truth."

"What truth?" I said, almost spitting out the last word.

"That Robert really is dead." I gave her a confused look, so she explained. "You would have liked Robert, since you both love old hot-rods like The Beast, but I'm not so sure he would have liked you. He was a committed pacifist; hated violence of any kind, and would never hurt anyone for any reason. This… thing, it's sending creatures to kill us, to try and hurt people to draw us out into the open. Robert, the man I knew, the man I loved, he would never have done that."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be," she replied, "It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't mine either. I know that now. I mean, it still hurts, but it's easier to bear the pain now." I nodded in understanding.

"It does get easier," I said.

"I know." We both sat back down at the table. I stared down at my now-soggy cereal for a long, long time, my appetite now gone.

"I don't know about you," I finally said, "but I'm beat. I'm gonna go upstairs, try to get some sleep."

"That actually doesn't…" Odette covered her mouth to stifle a yawn, "…doesn't sound like a bad idea." She started to her feet, then suddenly paused.

"You okay?"

"Yes," she said, "I just remembered something. C'mon." She reached over the table, grabbed my wrist, and started pulling me towards the door.

"Hey, what's going on?" I said as we entered the hallway, "Where're we going?"

"My room," she said.

"Your… your room?" I asked.

"Don't ask questions, just follow me."

"Wha..? Wha…?" I stammered as she drug me down the hall. This wasn't happening. I mean, sure I liked her I liked her a lot, actually – but I wasn't ready to take things that far yet; I'm one of those weirdoes that believes in waiting until after your married to have sex.

We ground to a halt outside her door.

"I'll be back in a second," she said, "wait right there." She slipped inside before I could protest. I stood there like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. I had no idea what to do. No, that's wrong; I knew I had to turn her down, but how could I do that without completely destroying what little relationship we probably still had? Just tell her I'm not ready, I reasoned, tell her that I really appreciate the thought… no, that sounded bad. Tell her that you really like her, but you don't think—

Odette's door suddenly swung open, and I actually felt my brain freeze for a second.

"Wha… wha… wha…?" I gasped, struggling to get my brain working right.

"Do you like it?" Odette asked, "I really hope you do. I just got the package today. I actually wanted to give this to you a lot sooner, but it turns out they don't make this particular model for the 220 Railed Compact, so I had to special-order it. I realized that with the way you wear it now, on the small of your back, if you fall down and land on it, that might cause some serious nerve damage. My father's a neurosurgeon," she explained, then her face suddenly fell. "You don't like it."

"No, no," I said quickly, "It's great. Thanks so much for thinking of me like this. I never thought about messing my back up like that." Her smile returned to her face. I felt my heart, which was already doing loop-the-loops, skip another beat.

"Thanks," she said as she pressed it into my hands, "I'm glad you like it. I hope it fits; they say it's adjustable…"

"Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll get it set up in the morning. Thanks again."

"You're welcome. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," I replied. She smiled again, causing another missed heartbeat, and disappeared into her room, closing the door behind her. I slowly walked back into my room and sat down on the bed, waking Hondo who'd curled up in the middle of the mattress. I ignored the annoyed look he have me, instead staring in wonder and dread at the thing Odette had just given me.

It was a Galco Miami Classic shoulder holster, exactly like the one I'd been wearing in my dream.


	22. Chapter 22: The Beast Lives

I lay in bed, exhausted but unable to sleep. My whole conversation with Doctor Bryson kept replaying over and over in my head like a broken record. I couldn't believe I'd just exploded on him like that. It wasn't his fault that my life had gotten so screwed up. It wasn't God's fault either, despite my best efforts to lay the blame on Him. No, it was me. Me and my stupid unwillingness to look for help. I thought I could handle it all on my own. Boy was I wrong.

Then there was the dream. I still hadn't told anyone besides Odette about the new version. I'd thought it was just a dream. I mean, sure, I knew Robert was out there and that he was gunning for me, and he had killed me in the dream, but I hadn't really thought it would happen for real. Then Odette had given me that shoulder rig, and suddenly my death seemed a whole lot more… I wanted to use a word other than "impending," but couldn't come up with anything more appropriate.

Odette. She said she was doing a lot better now, and judging from the way she'd acted after Doctor Bryson's "treatment" (for lack of a better word), I believed her. If her coming back from the brink and accepting the truth was the only positive outcome of this whole fiasco, than I really didn't mind.

I must've fallen asleep at some point that night, because the next thing I remember, I was startled into consciousness by a pair of twenty-odd pound objects landing on my chest, followed a second later by a brutal attack on my face by a pair of wet, smelly, slobbery things. I opened my eyes to find Dan and Ann on top of my chest, mercilessly licking my face.

"Okay, okay," I laughed, "I'm awake! I'm up! Stop it!" They continued their attack, giving me no quarter. "C'mon, cut it out!" I tried to shove the two beagles off me so I could get out of bed, but they just squirmed around my arms and resumed their assault. "C'mon, stop it!" I was laughing so hard that tears had started to run down my cheeks. "Hondo! Help!" Hondo immediately leapt into action, though not in the way I'd hoped; he trotted up and joined his two canine comrades. "Traitor! Oh, no! No, not on my mouth! Yech! That's gross, Hondo!"

"Awww!" I managed to crane my neck around to see the rest of the team and my entire family standing in the doorway, watching my predicament, all of them trying very hard not to laugh.

"Help!" I begged, but not one of them moved to help me. Scotty actually pulled out a video camera.

"Dude, this is goin' on YouTube!" he exclaimed as the little red light next to the lens blinked on.

"Aw, no, c'mon guys!" I pleaded.

"Monster Hunter Killed Killed by Cute Puppies," Shannon laughed at the possible title.

"Nope, by vicious killer werewolves," Chris corrected, unable to banish his smile. Jon, Dominique, and Odette were just standing there trying (and failing) to contain their laughter. The Twins were roaring laughing, Mom was laughing along with them, and Matt was just standing there and shaking his head, but even he was smiling.

"Okay, seriously, get off!" I laughed, giving the two beagles one final push, "I want to get up!" Dan and Ann finally took the hint and reluctantly jumped off the bed, each giving me those hurt puppy-dog eyes that melt hearts as they made their way over to the assembled crowd. Hondo followed a second later as I sat up and swung my legs off the side of the bed. The three of them all sat down in front of the crowd and started whining like I'd been ignoring them for weeks.

"Oh come on!" I said, "You guys know I love you." All three of them shot me those big puppy-dog-eye looks. Darn it, they knew I couldn't resist that. "Okay, okay," I said as I walked over and scratched them all behind their ears, "That better? You know I love you guys. Happy now?" Apparently it was, because all three of them got up and pushed through the crowd, probably heading towards the cafeteria and their breakfasts. Mom, Matt, and The Twins followed after them.

"Thanks guys," I said sarcastically to the assembled crowd, "you all were a huge help." They all laughed at that, and I laughed along with them. "Seriously, give me a minute to wash my face off and get some pants on and I'll be down for breakfast."

"Breakfast ended an hour ago," Shannon said, "You slept through it."

"An hour ago? What time is it?"

"Just about ten," Odette replied, "I told them about last night; we agreed you needed your sleep. Don't worry, I didn't tell your family about the, ah, argument, just that you couldn't sleep and stayed up late handloading."

"Thanks," I said. Mom and Matt had enough to worry about. "So what's up?"

"Eli called," Dominique said.

"It's finished?" I asked excitedly.

"Yep. He'll have it here in an hour."

"Yes!" I shouted, fist-pumping the air. Shannon and Odette rolled their eyes; everyone else laughed.

"So get dressed and grab some chow," Dominique said, "It should be here by then. You can meet us in the motor pool."

"Sweet! I'll see you down there."

I ran into the bathroom, stripped, and took the quickest shower of my life. I was literally in and out in less than five minutes. Once I was dry, I quick threw some clothes on and sprinted down to the cafeteria to fix myself some oatmeal. While it was in the microwave, I gave into temptation, pulled a slice of bread out of the pantry, and stuck my head inside the fridge and grabbed the Nutella. I was just about to unscrew the lid when I noticed a small Post-It Note stuck to the side of the jar.

_Don't Even Think About It._

_-Odette_

_P.S. This means you, Steve._

I ate the slice of bread plain.

Once I finished and got cleaned up, I ran back to my room to grab my checkbook before racing over to the motor pool. I got there just in time to see flatbed tow-truck back into the garage. On the back of the truck was a '69-GTO-shape covered by a black cloth. Only the bottoms of the new American Racing Torq-Thrust rims were visible poking out from the bottom of the tarp. I felt my heart rate increase.

"Steve! You almost missed it!" Odette called. The rest of the team and my family (along with all four dogs) were already gathered in the garage, waiting with eager anticipation. Even Mom and Matt, who were normally indifferent to my muscle-car obsession, were excited.

"Hey Steve-o!" Eli called as he swung down from the truck's cab. Eli was thin like his older sister, but a head shorter. His head was shaved, making him look like a young Samuel L. Jackson.

"Eli!" He walked over and pulled me into a "man-hug," (handshake followed by a quick slap on the back) "It looks awesome."

"Dude, you haven't even seen her yet," he laughed.

"Maybe, but Dominique showed me pictures of some of your other work, so I know it'll be incredible." Eli glanced at the floor, embarrassed.

"Sis…"

"Hey, I just showed him the pics, lil' bro. He knows quality when he sees it."

"Enough talking!" Jake said.

"Show us the car!" Terry finished. Both were nearly bursting at the seams with anticipation.

"Right!" Eli said, "Let's get this show on the road! Sis, can you give me a hand?"

"Sure thing," Dominique replied. A few moments later and they had the car unhooked and rolled off the flatbed.

"You guys ready?" Eli asked once it was on the ground.

"YEAH!" We were all waiting for this moment with baited breath. My heart felt like it was going to explode it was beating so fast.

"Okay!" Eli said, then turned to me, "Steve, you want to do the honors?" He gestured at the cloth covering The Beast and made a yanking motion.

"You bet!" I said, doing my best to walk calmly over to The Beast instead of sprinting and laughing like an idiot (which, honestly, I really, _really_ wanted to do). I walked around to the rear of the car, grabbed the cloth, then looked over at the crowd.

"One…" I started, "two…" everyone else joined in, "THREE!" I yanked the cloth off of the car.

"Dayum!"

"COOL!"

"Wow!"

"That is awesome!"

"It's beautiful!"

"Uh, lil' bro, it's, uh, it's blue."

"Yeah, I know. It's cool," Eli assured her, " Steve and I were going over the documentation, and it turns out the idiot who bought the car ordered it in Windward Blue, then decided he didn't like it and had it repainted black."

"How does that make him an idiot?" Mom asked.

"Windward Blue was a special-order color for '69 Goats," Eli explained, "Very rare, and if you ask me, a lot better looking than black anyway. Steve and I talked it over, and we decided to re-paint it in Windward. Right Steve? Steve?"

"Steve, are you okay?" Odette asked.

My jaw was hanging slack, and my knees had suddenly become so weak that I could barely stand up. I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven.

The Beast was absolutely beautiful.

"Eli…" I said as I finally found my voice, "this… this is… this is incredible!" I think I was actually crying when I said that. "Thank you so much!"

"Don't thank me 'till you've fire it up," Eli replied, then tossed me the keys.

"Yeah!" The Twins shouted. "Fire it up! Fire it up! Fire it up! Fire it up!" Pretty soon, everyone had joined in the chant, even Mom and Matt. Hondo started barking in time with us, then Dan and Ann started howling along. Only Lulu looked genuinely uninterested.

"Okay, okay! I'll start it up. Yeesh!" I said in mock annoyance. Really, I was even more eager than they were to hear The Beast come to life. I popped open the door, slid into the driver's seat, paused for a second to let the anticipation build (and savor the new-car smell of the restored interior), then slid the key into the slot and turned it.

"WOAH!" The thundering roar echoed off the garage's walls. I revved the engine, blipping the throttle and laughing like a madman. It sounded absolutely wicked. I don't know what Eli did to the engine, but it sounded like a whole new car; incredibly smooth and incredibly mean. I just sat there revving the motor and cackling wildly like a man possessed for what felt like hours before reality finally returned and I killed the engine. I quick pulled my checkbook out of my pocket and made one out to Eli before opening the door and returning to the world

Everyone was cheering as I climbed out of the car. I walked over to Eli and presented him with the check.

"Dude, that is the most incredible, bad-ass car I have ever seen," I told him, "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure, Steve," he said. He took the check, and his eyes bulged when he saw the amount.

"Woah, dude, this isn't right!"

"Yeah it is."

"But… but this is twice what we agreed!"

"And you earned every penny," I said.

"Steve… I can't take this."

"You can and you will," I told him, "I meant what I said; this is the most beautiful, incredible, bad-ass GTO in the history of Pontiac."

"Thank you…" was all he could manage.

"No, thank _you_," I replied, doing my best not to start crying again. "Thank you so much." I pulled him into a hug. He clapped me on the back in return.

"Ahem!" Jon cleared his throat and the two of us quickly released each other and turned back to the crowd. "So," Jon continued, "who gets to ride shotgun during the test drive?"

"Well…" I said, mulling it over. Truth be told, I hadn't thought about it…

"Well," Dominique said, "As team leader, I feel that I should be the one to make the sacrifice and help Steve put The Beast through its paces." A chorus of boos and jeers erupted from the assembled crowd.

"Steve, we went to school together," Jon implored, "Pick me!"

"Don't forget I let you shoot Abomination!" Owen said.

"We're your brothers!" Jake and Terry insisted, "We should get first dibs!"

"And I'm his stepfather," Matt said, "I should get the privilege." I _knew_ he was jealous of his roommate's Olds!

"Can I go on the first ride?" Shannon asked, "Please?"

"Steve, pick me and I'll give you unlimited access to my Tannerite supply!" Scotty said.

"I'll let you spend some quality time with Ma Deuce," Chris said, only to go pale when Mom shot him a look that bordered between horror, disgust, and rage. "What?" he squeaked, "It's a machine gun!"

Actually, guys, I think I've made my decision," I said, then looked Odette square in the eye. "Odette? Wanna go for a ride?"

"Really?" she asked.

"Yep. C'mon, let's go."

"I don't know…" she said.

"We'll only cruise around inside the compound," I said quickly, "I don't want to take her outside and have wights or whatever mess her up right after I got her."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that," she said, "but the thing is… ah, it looks like someone else decided for you."

"Huh?" I looked over at The Beast and saw…

"Hondo? Aw, c'mon!" While everyone was arguing over who got dibs on shotgun, Hondo had quietly trotted over to The Beast and climbed in the open driver's-side door, and was now sitting in the passenger's seat giving me a look that said "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's go!"

Everyone started chuckling as I marched over to The Beast. "C'mon Hondo, get down!" He looked at me like I was crazy, but didn't move. "C'mon, out of there! It's not your turn." He gave me that look of absolute hurt and betrayal he gave me whenever I tried to discipline him. I rolled my eyes. That move had lost its affect years ago. "Hondo. Out." He stared whining but slowly climbed out of the car. "You've got second dibs, Hondo, I promise. He just shot a hurt look over his shoulder as he stalked away. I turned to Odette.

"So how about it?" I asked. "Wanna take her for a spin?"

"Sure," Odette replied, a big grin spreading across her face.

It turns out that the compound used to be part of a coal town, owned by one of the companies that ran Scranton's various coal mines decades before. After the mines went bust back in the late 40s, the town was all but abandoned. The mining company eventually demolished most of the houses and wound up selling a big chunk of the property to MHI for a song back in the early 70s. Though nearly all of the old houses and stores were long gone (a handful near the firing ranges had been restored and converted into a Hogan's Alley), most of the town's roads remained, and nearly all of those were long and twisting.

It made for a perfect testing ground for my reborn Beast.

I'd started off driving cautiously and conservatively, both to get a feel for the car's improved handling and to not freak Odette out by driving like a maniac. But after spending a few getting used to The Beast, I had to glance over at Odette. She looked back at me, gave me a big smile, gestured at the long straightaway in front of us, and said three short words.

"Go for it."

I needed no second bidding. I racked the shifter into 1st and floored the gas. The Beast's engine bellowed as the rear tires started to evaporate in a cloud of white smoke. I let off the gas just a little, the tires found traction, and we raced down the road. I hit every upshift almost perfectly, laughing like a madman all the while. Odette had a huge grin plastered on her face. The end of the road arrived far too soon, forcing me to downshift and brake as I swung the wheel hard to the right, the back end on the ragged edge of breaking loose. Tires squealed in protest, but I was able to hold the turn.

"Are you okay?" I asked as we roared into the next straight.

"This is just like a roller coaster!" Odette shouted over the roar of the big V8.

"Sorry," I said, letting off the gas.

"Don't be!" she said, "I love roller coasters!"

"Really?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, in that case…" I downshifted and floored it again. Odette let out a whoop of delight before joining me in cackling like I'd lost my mind.

Soon the straight ended and I slid onto a long, twisting thoroughfare.

"This new suspension system is incredible!" I said. It was true; before, The Beast would have slid all over a road like this, but now it was hugging it like the finest German or Italian supercar.

"It is really nice," Odette added. "I bet the tires help too. Those old polyglass slicks were worthless."

"Yeah," I agreed, then realized what she'd said. "Wait, you like muscle cars too?"

"A little. I kind of had to get into them when Robert and his father restored that Chevelle, and I read up on the GTO back when we tried to restore this thing ourselves. Remember?"

Come to think of it, she had spent an unusual amount of time helping out in the garage.

"You seriously like these things?" I asked.

"I'm learning to."

"Why didn't you say something earlier?"

"I… I thought you might think I was weird," she admitted, "I mean, muscle cars aren't something girls are supposed to like."

"Are you kidding me?" I asked, "We hunt monsters for a living! Weird kinda comes with the territory, don't you think? And either way, if you ask me, a girl who likes a classic like this isn't weird."

"What is she?"

"A dream come true." I said. Odette looked at me like I was crazy, and I suddenly felt a compelling need to remove my foot from my mouth. Then she laughed that beautiful laugh of hers. She wasn't laughing at me, not to insult me, anyway.

"You're weird," she said with a smile, "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Yeah," I replied with a smile of my own, "I've heard that a few times."

"We should probably get back," Odette said, "Everyone else is probably getting impatient."

"Yeah," I said, "too bad." I turned back towards the motor pool. The big garage appeared down the road a few moments later. Everyone was standing outside, watching us approach. Dominique flagged us down.

"She still has to wait for Hondo to take his turn," I said with a laugh.

"Ah, Steve, I don't think she's thinking about getting a ride right now," Odette said, her voice suddenly very serious. And she was right: as we approached, I could see that Dominique's face was all business. I pulled up next to her and killed the engine.

"Get your gear together," she said as I cranked the window down.

"What's going on?" Odette asked.

"We just got a call from Earl. Zombie outbreak in Philadelphia. A big one." I felt my face pale, and I turned towards Odette. She looked just as frightened as me.

"What does this mean?" she asked.

"It's begun," I replied.


	23. Chapter 23: Mount Up

The seven of us worked with calm professionalism down in the armory. Weapons were checked, cleaned, lubricated and checked again. Magazines were loaded. Blades were sharpened and sheathed. Batteries were charged and replaced. No one spoke. We were all too focused on the upcoming battle – and we knew it would be a battle – to engage in idle chit-chat.

Scotty loaded his twin Schofields with his custom silver .45 Long Colts, locked the weapons closed, and spun them like an old-time cowboy before sliding them into his dual hip holsters. He loaded up his Benelli M3 Super 90 with eight shells of double-aught buckshot, then stuffed the dozens of loops on his armor with every specialty shotgun round known to mankind. Breacher rounds, Brenneke slugs, tear gas, bean-bags, flechettes, bolo rounds, those FRAG-12 grenades he loved so much, and even a few rounds of Quadrangle Buckshot (which really exists thanks to Milo Anderson). If someone loaded it, Scotty had it on his vest. His blades were just as unusual as his sidearm: a pair replica Franciscan battle-axes just like the ones the Franks had used to conquer their homeland were crossed across his back.

Dominique rocked a magazine into her German-made G3KA4 assault rifle, stuffed a full two dozen magazines into the pouches on her tac vest, then turned to her HK45 pistol. She smoothly loaded a magazine into the weapon, racked the slide and decocked it, then dropped the mag and replaced the chambered round before reloading the mag. A half-dozen pistol mags went into the pouches on her belt, and an oversized combat knife was strapped upside down under her left armpit.

Chris loaded a 200-round-long ammo belt into his customized M60E3 machine gun, then loaded four more plastic boxes into the large pouches on his belt. For good measure, he draped another belt over his shoulder like a bandoleer. He tested the light clipped to the frame of his 1911 automatic – a full-custom build by Les Baer – before loading it up, topping the mag off, and sliding it into the drop-leg holster on his right thigh. Another custom 1911 – this one an Officer's Model by Wilson Combat – went into the holster strapped inside his left ankle. Pistol mags covered every open spot on his vest and pistol belt. His Ka-Bar knife went into a leather sheath on his left hip.

Shannon locked the big drum magazine full of buckshot into Boudica, stuffed a dozen ten-round box mags into her vest pouches, then hooked a backpack-mounted tank of Milo Anderson's homemade napalm mix up to the underbarrel flamethrower. Based on Milo's calculations, Shannon had a good ninety seconds of flame at her disposal with that thing. She double-checked to make sure her Springfield XD45 Tactical was loaded and topped off before sliding into her front break Galco-shoulder rig. A big Kuhkri knife was already strapped to her left thigh.

Odette also had a custom Galco rig. Her full-size Smith & Wesson 4566 hung under her left armpit, while the smaller 4516 rode under her left. The mags for the pistols were in pouches on her belt. She loaded up her UMP45, locking the mag into the receiver and slapping the charging handle down just like you see in all those action movies. Ironic, since she hated "shoot-'em-up flicks." She looked more ready for war than any of us, with a full thirty magazines attached to her armor. She slid her big Bolo machete into a sheath on her right hip.

Jon carefully cleaned his new Crusader Broadsword for the umpteenth time before reassembling and loading it. He triple-checked the adjustments on the Magpul stock before loading a magazine into the rifle and six more went into his vest pouches. He already had custom 1911A1 – a Nighthawk Tactical GRP locked and cocked in a low-riding hip holster, and was sliding a second one into a high-ride cross-draw holster. The rig made him look like a modern-day Wyatt Earp. A full dozen pistol mags were strapped to the sides of is vest, and his oversized Tomahawk was already slung across his back.

Meanwhile, I rocked a 30-round magazine into my FAL and stuffed ten more 20-rounders into my vest pouches. My full-size SIG P220 went into its regular drop-leg holster, and eight spare magazines went into vest and belt pouches, while the P220 Compact and two more magazines slid into my new Galco shoulder rig. I stared at the rig for what felt like hours, a sense of foreboding and dread seeping into my body until I forcefully brushed it aside and shrugged the rig on over my armor. It was still a little uncomfortable: I'd had it for less than 24 hours and hadn't gotten it adjusted perfectly yet. I loaded up my Mossberg 590A1, slid it into my back-scabbard, then stuffed a few dozen extra shells into loops on the front of my belt. I slid a few breacher rounds into a row of loops on my right shoulder in case I ran into a locked door or something. My Katana was already in its sheath strapped to my left hip, while the smaller Wakazashi was strapped to my back, its sheath riding underneath the Mossberg's scabbard. I also had a flask of Holy Water in a pouch on my left shoulder, and a full dozen sharpened white-oak stakes strapped to the sides of my armor. Somehow, I knew that the battle wouldn't end until I'd come face to face with Robert, and I wasn't going into that fight unprepared.

"Everyone set?" Dominique asked. We all nodded affirmatively. "Move out."

We marched up the stairs and out the door towards the motor pool where my family was waiting for us. Owen and Julie were with them, already geared up and waiting for us. The plan was to drive my family to a nearby airport where one of MHI's aircraft would meet us and fly then down to the main compound down in Alabama. The outbreak in Philly was so big that Earl had retracted his order confining me to the compound and was instead sending me out with the rest of the team, and it had been decided that it was too dangerous for my folks to stay alone in the compound in case Robert decided to hit it again. Even though every available team from MHI was being sent into Philadelphia, there would still be more than enough support staff in Alabama to keep them safe.

Our two SUVs were sitting side-by-side in the center of the garage, rear hatches open wide. The rest of the team began piling their weapons and crates of extra ammo into the cargo compartments. My parents' minivan was parked off in the corner. Mom and Matt were loading their things into the back while Jake and Terry stood off to the side, holding the dogs on their leashes. All the dogs were visibly agitated; milling about, tugging on their leashes, whining loudly. They knew something was up, that we were going to be moving somewhere new, and they were afraid they were going to get left behind.

I headed to the rear of the garage, where The Beast was parked, set my FAL on the floor, then opened the trunk.

"Hey Steve!" Dominique called, "What're you doing?"

"Loading up," I replied as I loaded the FAL and Mossberg into a hard gun case and set that in The Beast's trunk.

"I can see that, but why in The Beast? You're not seriously going to drive that, are you?"

"Why not? I've barely broken it in yet, and besides, I'm only gonna take it to the Academy, not all the way into Philly." All of the available MHI teams were rendezvousing – along with the National Guard and the MCB –about fifteen miles west of Philadelphia at Valley Forge Military Academy for a briefing and a status update before we would actually enter the city.

"Whatever," Dominique shrugged as I loaded my swords in the trunk, "I'd just hate to see my little brother's handiwork get messed up.

"Don't worry about it," I said. She just rolled her eyes and heaved a crate of 12-gauge slugs into the back of the Excursion.

It was a thirty-minute drive from the compound to Wilkes-Barre/Scranton International Airport, but it felt like hours. As promised, Hondo rode with me in the front seat, and Jake and Terry sat in the back seats. My earlier suspicions about them had been correct; they were both hooked on the idea of becoming Monster Hunters and they begged and pleaded with me to get them into MHI. Unfortunately for them, Mom and Matt had talked with me about that, so I told them what I promised my parents I would say: I wasn't going to encourage them, but I wasn't going to try and talk them out of it either. I _did_ tell them that once they finished up with school and got their degrees, if they were still interested in becoming Hunters, that I would get them in touch with Earl Harbinger about joining a Newbie course. Somehow I knew they'd end up joining.

We got to the airport right on time only to discover that our plane was running late. Apparently it had encountered headwinds over Kentucky. Or West Virginia, I wasn't really paying attention. Either way, we ended up waiting around for a good forty minutes or so with nothing to do. At least the airport staff let us wait in an empty hangar; nine heavily-armed and armored individuals hanging out in an airport lobby would have brought every SWAT team and Alphabet Agency in a hundred-mile radius crashing down on our heads.

I paced back and forth across the concrete floor, impatiently waiting for the plane. It wasn't that I was anxious to get rid of my family. Even though Mom and Matt had been kind of distant over the last few weeks, I was still glad to have had them around. They were still family and, much as I hated to admit it at times, I'd missed them.

"Anxious to get rid of us?" I turned around and found myself face-to-face with Mom and Matt.

"No," I said quickly, "It was great seeing you guys again! I'm just… nervous, I guess."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Matt said.

"Yes I do," I replied, "I signed up for this. I'm going."

"But it's dangerous," Mom argued.

"I know."

"It isn't your fight," she pressed, "let the others handle it."

"If not me, than who? And if not now, than when?" I asked rhetorically, using the same phrase as when I'd told them my plans to enlist in the Marine Corps after high school.

"But…" Mom said, then her face fell.

"It's his decision dear, whether we like it or not," Matt said as he draped an arm around my mother's shoulder.

"Look," I said slowly, "I'm sorry. About all of this; about lying to you, about getting you caught up in this whole thing with Robert, making you live in a compound in the woods with a bunch of heavily-armed right-wing paramilitary wackos…"

"It's not about that," Mom replied quickly, "Well, all right, having to come to the compound did mess things up for us a little, but that's not why we're upset. It's just that… you're our son, and we love you, and… and we don't want anything bad to happen to you. I mean, we know you're a man now and you can make your own decisions, but to us, you'll always be our baby."

I didn't know what to say to that. I think I might have started crying a little bit. Tell anyone that last bit and I'll hunt you down and kill you.

"I…" I finally found my voice, "I know." I pulled both of them into a hug. "I know." Now I really was crying (again, don't tell anyone). After a long moment, we released each other.

"Promise us you'll come back?" Mom said.

"I… you know I don't make promises that I don't know if I'll be able to keep." Their faces fell and Mom started to tear up. "But I do promise that I'll try my hardest." That seemed to satisfy them.

"Plane's on the ground!" Dominique called, "It'll be here in a few minutes!"

"Fight well," Matt said.

"You know I will," I replied with a smile.

Any further conversation was cut off by the arrival of Gryphon, MHI's very own C-130 Hercules. The pilot didn't pull the aircraft into the hangar – a good thing because there wasn't enough room with us and our cars in there – but instead turned the aircraft around so the tail was pointed straight at the hangar doors. The pilot cut three of the engines, and a second later the rear hatch dropped. The fourth engine died, and after a moment a short Asian man with a cane walked down the ramp.

"Hey Lee!" Owen called as he and Julie ran over to greet him. I vaguely remembered him. His name was Albert Lee; he'd been an active Hunter for a few weeks before being wounded during the Cursed One Incident – a Master Vampire had left him with that cane – and how he worked down in MHI's archives and served part-time as a classroom instructor during Newbie courses.

"So," Lee said after greetings were exchanged all around, "you the passengers?"

"Yes, that's us," Matt replied. I noticed that Mom's gaze was locked on Lee's cane. No doubt she was scared to death that I'd come back from Philly with one of those, or worse.

"Let's get you loaded up and outta here," Lee said, "That your van? You can just drive it right up the ramp; the loadmaster will show you where to park it."

"Thanks," Matt replied. He, Mom, The Twins, and the dogs all piled into the van. All except Hondo. He just stood there, looking at me with big sad eyes. Somehow he knew that he wouldn't see me again after this.

"Aw, Hondo," I said, walking over to him, dropping into a crouch, and pulling him into a hug, "Take care of Mom and Matt for me," I whispered into his ear so Mom and Matt couldn't hear, "I'm gonna count on you to keep them safe for me. I love you, Hondo." Hondo's face fell and he began to whimper softly.

"Oh, that reminds me," Lee said, "Milo sent along these." He unslung a small backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out four seats of electronic earmuffs: one tiny, two small, and one just about human sized. "For the dogs," he explained. I couldn't help but laugh: I'd heard of those but had never actually seen them before.

We finally got Hondo into the van, then Lee and the Hercules' crew got the van loaded onto the plane. The ramp retracted, the engines roared to life, and the big aircraft taxied away from the runway. Everyone else headed back to the SUVs, but I stood there watching until the C-130 lifted off from the runway a moment later. I waved goodbye to my family for the last time, then ran over to The Beast.

It was another two hours from the airport to Valley Forge Military Academy. Part of me was actually looking forward to going back there – I'd grown up close to VFMA and had attended a (civilian) college literally right down the road from it – but I was really too nervous to care. Not even the thundering V8 of The Beast and the blaring guitars and drums of Manowar – Eli had also installed a kick-ass audio system and an audio jack – could take my mind off of the dream. First the shoulder holster, and now the zombie outbreak; I was really starting to think that the dream was a prophecy, a vision of the future, or whatever you want to call it. And I couldn't forget how the vision had ended.

"Do you mind if I turn this down?" Odette asked from the passenger seat. She wasn't much of a metal fan.

"Sure," I said absently, "Go ahead." She reached into the glove compartment, which was where the audio jack had been thoughtfully hidden, and lowered the volume on my iPod.

"Thanks," she said, then turned to me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I guess," I replied.

"It was just a dream," she assured me.

"If you say so." We drifted into an uncomfortable silence for a minute.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked.

"What is it?"

"If anything happens to me—"

"Nothing is going to happen to you," she insisted, "it was just a dream. It doesn't mean anything."

"Maybe, maybe not," I said, "But if something does happen to me, I want you to do two things for me."

"What?"

"First, I want you to have The Beast, and second, I want you to take care of Hondo for me."

"Don't talk like that! You're talking like you're not planning on coming back from this!"

"I'm planning on living, I just like being prepared." The lie came smoothly. Somehow I knew it was more than just a regular dream. "I trust you, and I know you'll take good care of both of them."

"Stephen—"

"Odette, please. Promise me."

"I promise," she said reluctantly, but I could tell she meant it.

"Thanks."

"But it won't matter, because you're going to make it out okay."

"I'll do my best," was all I could offer.

"Yes, and your best is going to be more than enough to—" she stopped suddenly as _House of Death_ ended and my iPod shuffled over to another track. I felt my heart literally stop in my chest for a second.

"Uh, you can change that if you want!" I blurted. Odette just stared at me in shock.

"Five Guys Named Moe?"

"I… uh… I've got an… eclectic taste in music!" I spluttered, "You can change it!"

"No way," she laughed, "I love this song!"

"Seriously?"

"Yep," she said, then started singing along to the music. "There ain't nobody here but us chickens! There ain't nobody here at all. So quiet yourself, and stop that fuss. There ain't nobody here but us." I just shook my head and rolled my eyes. My anxiety was suddenly gone.

A moment later, I joined in the singing as we barreled down the highway.


	24. Chapter 24: The Briefing

Surprisingly, we weren't the first team from MHI to arrive at Valley Forge Military Academy. About a half-dozen had arrived before us, including Earl Harbinger and his team. Any doubts the rest of us had about whether or not the situation was serious were squashed the moment we saw him: Earl's team was MHI's equivalent of Delta Force. They were the most experienced Hunters in the company, and they were only called out for the really, really big jobs.

The MHI Teams, MCB Agents, and National Guardsmen – there were maybe five hundred of us total – had all congregated in the rear of the Academy's property, out next to the baseball diamonds on the big, flat field the Academy used for PT testing and obstacle courses. A huge tent city had been set up by the Feds on one side of the field, while a humungous television screen had been set up on the opposite end. There was a hastily-erected stage at the base of the Jumbotron with a podium in the center.

A handful of people were up on the stage; I recognized Earl, Julie, Owen, and Sam Haven; a big man with a cowboy hat, duster jacket, and a walrus moustache. Sam had been one of my instructors in the Newbie course all those months ago, but he normally headed up MHI's Boulder, Colorado team. The ex-Navy SEAL hadn't been thrilled with his temporary reassignment and hadn't been shy about letting us Newbies know it. Still, he was a warrior to the core, and he was fiercely loyal to MHI and all of its employees. He was the kind of man that soldiers would follow through the gates of Hell if he asked them to. I know I would.

There were four MCB Agents on the podium as well. I recognized Willard and Simpkin right away. With them was an older man in a cheap suit who reminded me a little of Mark Harmon, and a huge, ugly gorilla of a man who looked like the only thing he knew how to do was smash skulls. I heard one of the other Hunters refer to him as "Franks." She didn't sound all that pleased to see him, and somehow I couldn't blame her. The guy gave me the creeps.

A few more Hunter teams showed up after about a half-hour, so the Mark Harmon look-alike stepped up to the microphone.

"Attention," he commanded like a military general. The MCB Agents and National Guardsmen all immediately snapped to, but a lot of the Hunters continued to chat loudly amongst themselves. The Agent at the mic frowned.

"Attention!" he called again. Most of the chatting Hunters ignored him.

"I said Attention!" Again, MHI paid him no mind. He gave Earl a withering glare. Earl just shrugged and sauntered to the edge of the stage.

"EVERYBODY SHUT UP!" Even without the aid of a microphone, Earl Harbinger's roar could be heard clearly across the entire field. All conversations immediately ceased. "Thank you!" Earl gestured for the MCB Agent to continue before sauntering back upstage.

"For those of you who don't know me," the Agent said, "my name is Myers. I am Director of the Monster Control Bureau." A few Hunters shouted catcalls, and I think I heard more than a few jeers or 'boos' too. Morgan bristled, but ignored them.

"As you are all aware," he continued, a slight edge creeping into his voice, "we are facing a grave threat. The city of Philadelphia is currently the epicenter of what looks to be the largest zombie outbreak on record." A map of the city appeared on the Jumbotron behind him. Large portions of it were shaded red. "As of ten minutes ago, there were an estimated three thousand confirmed zombies in the city, and that number appears to be growing exponentially. Now, we have already blocked off all routes leading in and out of the city, and we have advance teams on the ground dealing with the infestation, but we estimate that at the current rate of growth, the city will be completely over-run in twelve hours. It is imperative that we—" He got no farther, as Earl once again sauntered up to the front of the stage.

"What Myers is trying to say," Earl said, "Is that we've got us a shitload of zombies in Philly and, much as I wish we didn't have to, we have to go in and save the city and all of its inhabitants. Well, the ones who are still alive anyway."

"Harbinger…" Myers said, his cheeks suddenly going flush. If looks could kill, Earl Harbinger would have been reduced to a smoldering pile of ash. Earl ignored him.

"If we don't," he continued, "then the city goes even further to hell than it already is, and more importantly, the zombies will overwhelm the government checkpoints and spread all across the East Coast and potentially the entire country." That garnered a few nervous murmurs and whispers from the crowd. Earl gestured to Julie, who walked up to the podium, brushing past Myers to get to the mic.

"We need to get into the city and begin securing it as soon as possible," she said. As she spoke, the red-shaded portions of the map disappeared and were replaced by three green shaded areas. The edges of the city, especially the easternmost end along the river, turned green as well. "Phase one of this task involves establishing beachheads in the city. MCB already has people on the ground at the waterfront who are slowly making their way inland. We need to link up with them. To do that, we'll be inserting large numbers of you via air to these three locations." She gestured up towards the screen. "Fairmount Park, Philadelphia International Airport, and the South Philadelphia Sports Complex."

"Well that figures," I muttered to myself.

"Command posts will be set up at all three locations. Casualty collection points will be established in the park and at the Sports Complex. Once the airport has been fully secured, we will begin flying in supplies and personnel, as well as evacuating civilians. Any questions?"

"Isn't there a ball game tonight?" a Hunter shouted.

"Yes," Julie said, "I believe it's Yankees versus Phillies at Citizens' Bank Park."

"Do we have to save the Yankees too?" the Hunter pressed. Most of the Hunters and a few National Guardsmen laughed at that.

"Yes, you do, DeSoto," Julie admonished, then her face grew serious again, "Once these three areas have been cleared, sweeper teams will be dropped, again by air, at various locations through the city. Their job will be to move through the city, clearing buildings, rescuing survivors, and of course, eliminating zombies."

"What about supporting fire?" an MCB agent asked.

"Such as?"

"Air support or artillery," the Agent clarified, "Can we bring in that sort of firepower on an infested building?"

"Anyone tries to reenact the MOVE fiasco," I shouted over the crowd, "And I'll kill the bastard myself!" That garnered cheers from the Hunters.

"We will not be bombing civilians, Sambor," Myers said as he shoved past Julie to regain control of the mic. "Now, are there any other questions?" There were none. "Good. Report to your team leaders. They will have your assignments waiting for you. Everyone load up; the advance teams take off in twenty minutes. Good luck, and Godspeed." He stepped away from the mic and shot another furious glare at both Earl and Julie as the crowd broke up. I already had my weapons and equipment on me, so I set about looking for Dominique.

"What figures?" I turned to find Odette standing next to me.

"Huh?"

"When Julie said we'd be landing at the Sports Complex, you said it figured. Why?"

"Oh. Well, about ten years ago, the city was just starting to have financial problems, so our then-mayor decided that the best way to solve the problem would be to demolish our old stadium and build two new ones."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I was. Seems the guy was more concerned about giving the city something to remember him by than actually helping the town recover economically, so they build the Linc and CB Park and then demolished the perfectly-good Veterans Stadium."

"The Linc and CB Park?"

"Lincoln Financial Field and Citizens Bank Park. Our football and baseball stadiums, respectively. So anyway, now we've got two of the ugliest stadiums in the country and the city's pretty much broke. And my family wonders why I hate politicians."

"There you guys are," Dominique said as we finally found her. "Get your stuff together; we're on one of the advance teams."

"Which one?" Odette asked.

"The one hitting the Sports Complex." Dominique gave us both a really strange look as my jaw dropped and Odette burst out laughing.


	25. Chapter 25: Batter Up

MHI had helicopters of its own, but those were still a few hours away, so we all loaded into the back of a National Guard Black Hawk for the short flight into the city. There were eleven of us in the chopper; the entire Scranton team and four additional Hunters from a team out in Utah. To my surprise, the leader of the Utah team was none other than Jon's father, Doug Callahan.

I'd only met Doug once, when Jon and I graduated from high school, but I'd known him by reputation for a few years before that. Shortly after we'd first met, Jon had told me that his father was a former Delta Force Operator who had been recruited by the CIA's Special Activities Division, and that he had taken part in paramilitary operations in Africa and the Middle East when Jon was a kid. I'd thought he was messing with me and laughed it off. That all changed one night when my father was picking me up from a movie that I'd seen with Jon and a few of our buddies. Jon's mother was there, and my father had noticed a CIA pin on her jacket. Turns out she'd been CIA too and had worked support for several of Doug's missions. Jon had the last laugh that night.

Doug and Jon looked a lot alike, though Doug was about a head shorter and wore his hair and beard close-cropped, not long and scraggily like his son. His weapon of choice was an FAL carbine like mine, although his had a short 13-inch barrel and could fire full-auto. It was also fitted with an EOTech Holosight and had an M203 grenade launcher attached to the bottom of the handguard.

"Shit," Doug said as we started flying over Philadelphia. I couldn't help but agree with his assessment: the city looked like a war zone. Cars and buildings were on fire, people were running everywhere, and I could see more than a few zombies on the ground. Police had set up roadblocks, but a few of those looked like they'd turned into improvised bunkers as they'd been overwhelmed by swarms of undead.

"It's like fucking Mogadishu all over again," another Utah Hunter said.

"You were at Mogadishu?" I asked instinctively. "Black Hawk Down?"

"Yeah," he said, "You saw the movie?" I nodded. "I still can't watch it. Too damn close to the real thing."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said, "We'd have all gone back in a heartbeat if Clinton and those chickenshits in Congress hadn't pulled the plug on us."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For serving."

"Oh. You're welcome." I reached across the inside of the chopper and shook his hand.

"Two minutes!" one of the Black Hawk's crew chiefs shouted over the whine of the engines.

"You gonna be okay, Hodge?" Doug asked.

"Hell yeah!" Hodge replied, "You know I've made my peace with the Mog, and it doesn't matter either way because the zombies won't be shooting back at us!" He and Doug laughed. Those of us who overheard them couldn't help but join in.

"One minute!"

Conversation ceased. Charging handled were yanked back, rounds were chambered. Doug opened up his M203 and loaded it.

"Buckshot," he explained, "I like to keep it handy for close encounters."

I glanced out of the Black Hawk's open door. We were over the Sports Complex's massive parking lot, and I could see a huge mob already running towards the approaching helicopters. One Black Hawk full of National Guardsmen tried to set down but took off again almost immediately as the mob started to swarm it. One desperate man clung to the landing strut as the chopper rose a good thirty feet into the air before his grip finally failed. I winced as he fell back to the pavement. Even over the deafening sound of the Black Hawk's engines, I thought I could hear his scream.

"This is no good!" the pilot called back to us. "We can't set down or else we'll get mobbed!"

"Can you guys fast-rope?" The second crew chief asked.

"Yeah, no sweat!" Doug replied. The rest of us nodded affirmatively. The chopper dropped slightly until it was about thirty feet above ground. The two crew chiefs produced a pair of long, thick ropes from somewhere and affixed them to mounting brackets above the open doors.

"Okay, you guys are gonna have to move out as soon as you hit the ground because we're gonna have to drop the ropes as soon as you're all clear, otherwise we're gonna have civilians trying to climb 'em. Understood?" We all nodded. The crew chiefs booted the ropes out the doors.

"GO! GO! GO! GO!" I was set to bail out the right side of the aircraft. Doug went first, followed by Dominique, then Scotty, then me.

"Good luck!" Jon called as I hit the rope. He wouldn't be joining us on the ground; he and Hodge would stay in the choppers and use their sniper rifles to give us precision covering fire from the air.

The slide down the rope felt like it only lasted a fraction of a second. Supposedly, it takes about five seconds to fast-rope from that height, but to me it seemed a heck of a lot shorter. I braked right before hitting the asphalt, then dropped off the rope. No sooner had I hit the ground and cleared the rope than the four of us were set upon by the mob. They were all human, thank God, but that relief was short lived as they began pulling at us, screaming for help.

"Hey, back off!" I shouted. They ignored me.

"Why won't you take us with you?"

"Bring that helicopter back!"

"Get us out of here!"

"HELP US!"

"You bastards!" A big guy suddenly emerged from the crowd and tried to take a swing at me. I dodged the blow then butt-stroked him in the gut with my FAL, sending him to the pavement. Screams erupted as the crowd retreated, then I saw the faces of the people on the leading edge change from terror to rage. Another second and they'd rush us, and we couldn't shoot them even in self-defense. Fortunately, someone in the National Guard had possessed enough brains to plan for such a situation. I let the FAL drop onto its sling, reached behind my back, and unclipped a pair of stun grenades from my armor. I pulled the pins and tossed them into the air just as the crowd started to charge.

The grenades detonated two feet over the heads of the edge of the mob. Even with my electronic earplugs in and my eyes clenched shut, it was still unpleasant: I felt like Owen Pitt had just punched me in the gut. I don't want to imagine what it felt like for the unprepared mob members. The leading edge went down to the pavement. Some of them had their hands clenched over their ears, all were screaming and moaning in pain and surprise. The standing members shrunk back as the rest of the team tossed more flashbangs at their feet.

"Go to the National Guardsmen!" Dominique shouted into a compact bullhorn she's procured from somewhere back at the Academy, "They will assist you! Now, I need everyone to remain calm and clear us a path to the stadiums! Right now!" The crowd shrank away from us but otherwise did not move. "Do it now!" Dominique ordered, "or we will use more stun grenades!" The prospect of more ear-shattering explosions apparently didn't appeal to most of the crowd because they slowly began to shift over to where the National Guardsmen were setting up. I didn't feel bad about bumming the mob off on the Guard: they didn't have a clue when it came to Monster Hunting, so we were the lead elements into the stadiums.

The nine of us quickly formed up and began quickly winding our way through the parking lot towards Citizens Bank Park. Doug was on point, and Shannon and Scotty were right behind him with their shotguns.

"Guys, be advised, I've got some Zeds coming out of the Third Base Gate, heading for your position," Jon called over the radio.

"They're out of range, Jon," Doug replied, "Take 'em."

"Copy that."

"Negative," I said, "I can get them."

"Do it quick," Jon replied, "They're closing on a group of survivors." I quickly dashed around to the front of our line, dropped to one knee, and cranked up the magnification on my scope. Sure enough, there were five zombies shuffling out of the stadium towards a group of maybe two dozen humans. I centered the amber reticule on the lead zombie's head and squeezed the trigger. The top of its head exploded and it dropped. I dew a bead on the next one in line and fired again. It dropped too. The third zombie went down from one of Jon's shots, so I lined up on the fourth and dropped it. I pulled the trigger on the fifth just as Jon got lined up on it. Our two bullets were both headshots, and the zombie's skull exploded in a fountain of black gore.

"Okay your clear," Jon said, "but haul ass. I can see more Zeds inside."

"Roger that," Dominique replied, then turned to us. "Move it!"

The inside of the stadium was chaos. Actually, the chaos extended to outside the stadium's entrances: a huge crowd was trying to force its way out of the gate, creating a bottleneck that prevented anyone from getting in or out of the stadium. It took another dozen flashbangs to break up the logjam enough for us to make our way inside.

Complete pandemonium greeted us when we finally pushed our way into the arena. People were running, screaming, crying. And of course there were zombies. Not as many as I'd expected, but still a decent amount. A handful of civilians were fighting back, going after the undead with whatever weapons they could find, but most were panicking, trying to run, hide, do anything to get away.

The second we breached the gate, I snapped up my FAL and blew the brains out of a zombie. The crowd's hysteria increased tenfold before the echo of the shot faded.

"Watch your backgrounds!" Doug called over the screams. "No rifle fire unless you have a clean background!" Doug had transitioned to his sidearm – a full-custom M1911 – the moment we'd entered the stadium. I dropped my FAL to its sling, drew my Mossberg, and jacked a round into the chamber. He was right; full-power battle rifles in a close-in environment like this would create a lethal crossfire.

"Steve, Odette, Scotty, head up the stands!" Dominique called, "There's a whole mess of them above us!" I looked up and saw a cluster of about fifteen zombies about twenty rows up slowly making their way towards a group of panicked, cowering civilians.

"On it!" Scotty called as he blasted a zombie's head to mist with his Benelli. "You two ready?" We nodded. "Let's go!"

We charged up the steps, firing as we went. Odette ran her UMP like a Navy SEAL, dropping zombies with precise two- and three-round bursts to the head. Scotty and I just pumped buckshot into the big mass. We got a few, but all of us ran dry halfway up the steps. I speed-reloaded just like Owen had taught me back in Newbie training, a round directly into the chamber and four more _snick-snick-snick-snick_ into the magazine and then four more just as fast. Odette already had her little subgun rolling again. We were almost on top of the zombies, so I yanked the shotgun's bayonet from its sheath on my left thigh and affixed it to the clamp under the magazine tube.

"EAT LEAD AND DIE!" I screamed as the three of us charged the horde. I thrust my shotgun like a spear into the neck of the nearest zombie, burying the bayonet up to its hilt in the undead's flesh. I didn't stop there: I braced the stock against my shoulder and pulled the trigger, showering us, the civilians, and the rest of the horde with zombie brains. Odette was right: this whole blowing-heads-off-monsters-with-shotguns thing was getting to be a theme with me.

"YEAHHHHHH!" Odette screamed like a banshee as she emptied her UMP into the horde, dropping another three Zeds as Scotty and I dropped the rest of the horde with quick headshots.

"You enjoyed that," I commented as Odette and I reloaded.

"Yeah," she said with a huge grin, "so did you."

"Hell yeah!"

"St… St… Stephen?"

"Huh?" the voice came from the crowd of civilians, and to my surprise, I recognized it. I turned towards the crowd and almost dropped my shotgun in surprise. "Doctor Young?"

He looked completely different from how I remembered him. His suit jacket and tie had been replaced by an oversized Phillies jersey, his khaki pants had been exchanged for worn, faded blue jeans, and he was wearing a Phillies ball cap and a giant foam finger that someone – or something – had taken a huge bite out of, but I'd never forget that face. Lo and behold, it was indeed Dr. Patrick Young, my old college professor, the one who'd helped me work through losing Chad.

"What… what are you doing?" he asked, his face completely ashen.

"Well… you remember that Second Amendment to the Constitution? The one you said only applied to the military, National Guard, and policemen?"

"Yes…"

"I'm exercising it as an individual," I said, unable to hold back a self-righteous smirk. We'd had that debate so many times during and after class that I'd lost count, and I think right then I'd finally won it. "Oh," I added, " and I'm saving your butt while doing so. Speaking of which, duck!" He turned around to find himself face to half-face with a charging zombie. Part of its jaw was gone, and the wound was leaking black blood. Doctor Young didn't duck, instead he stood there like the proverbial deer in the headlights, so I ran over, shoved him to the floor, and dumped a load of buckshot into the undead thing's head.

"You okay?" I asked. He nodded dumbly, his mouth flopping open like a fish's, but no words came out. It looked like he was starting to go into shock. "Okay, just stay calm," I said, "You see those guys in camo down there?" I pointed at a squad of National Guardsmen who were cautiously making their way up the stands. He nodded. "Good. Go to them, they'll get you out of here, okay?" Another nod. "Okay, get going," I said, giving him a gentle shrug in their direction. He, and most of the rest of the crowd, needed no further bidding; they ran towards the National Guardsmen like alcoholics to happy hour.

"Hey, check that out!" Scotty said.

"Check what out?" Odette asked. He just pointed down into the field, where to my absolute amazement, I saw a huge circle of dead zombies around the pitcher's mound. Inside the circle stood a ring of baseball players, each with a well-bloodied baseball bat. Phillies and Yankees stood shoulder-to-shoulder, cracking the skulls of any zombie that wandered into range of their Louisville Sluggers. Unfortunately for them, the number of zombies heading for them numbered close to a hundred, and several of them had broken their bats while breaking zombie heads. They needed support, and fast.

"Call in the sniper cover for those guys," I said as I replaced the Mossberg in its scabbard. "And give me some cover." Scotty got on the radio as I dropped into a crouch and braced my FAL's handguard on the back of the seat below me. I settled into the stock, dialed the scope up to maximum magnification, and drew a bead on one of the zombies down in the field. _BOOM!_ He went down hard as his skull dissolved into a black mist. I lined up on another zombie and repeated the process. He went down hard too. I dropped a third and a fourth the same way before two Black Hawks began circling above the stadium. The four airborne snipers made quick work of the horde down on the field. The baseball players raised their bats towards the choppers, and even over the roar of the Black Hawks and the gunfire echoing throughout the stadium, we all could hear their victory cry.

"Contact right!" Odette called. I jumped to my feet and double-tapped a zombie charging towards us. He went down hard, but I saw he was wearing a Yankees jersey, so I shot him again on principle.

"All teams be advised," Dominique called over the radio, "we've got a group of civilians pinned down in the Visitor's Dugout. Anyone in the area, drop what you're doing and get down there!"

"This is Morgan, we've got it!" Odette replied. "You two ready?" Scotty nodded eagerly, and I swapped mags in my FAL, racking the charging handle for emphasis.

"Let's go!" I shouted, and the three of us charged down the steps towards the field, an ancient battle cry on our lips.


	26. Chapter 26: Into The Valley

It took hours to clear the Sports Complex. The stadiums were massive structures with labyrinths of passages both above and below ground. CB Park took the longest because it had been full of people, and was chock full of zombies as a result. By the time my team and I had finally staggered back into the parking lot, the sun was slipping below the horizon and there wasn't an undead left anywhere in the Complex.

Fortunately, the National Guard hadn't sat around doing diddlysquat while MHI had been busting zombie skulls. They'd cleared out most of the vehicles that had been in the parking lot and set up what amounted to a small military base. Tents had been erected in neat rows and columns up and down the asphalt, and a decent-sized heliport had been created on the far side of the lot. Giant portable spotlights similar to the ones in the stadiums illuminated everything.

No sooner had we staggered out of the stadium (we were all pretty exhausted) than a National Guard HUMVEE pulled up and ferried us over to a long tent filled with empty bunk beds. We all stripped off our tactical gear and removed portions of our armor before flopping down on the bunks and getting some much-needed Z's.

Sadly, my blissfully peaceful sleep (okay, it wasn't really; I dreamt about killing zombies with a machine gun that never ran out of ammo) was interrupted by Julie after three painfully short hours. The MCB and National Guard had begun pushing their way into the city, but weren't making headway fast enough, so we going to be choppered in to augment them. The team and I had just enough time to shake the sleep from our eyes, replenish our ammo supplies, and grab a quick bite to eat before we were loaded into the back of one of MHI's choppers for the flight out to 69th Street.

Until recently, MHI only had one helicopter, a Russian-made Mi-24 Hind-A. It was designed primarily as an attack chopper, but could also hold up to eight passengers. After the Cursed One incident a few years back, which had netted the company the biggest PUFF bounty in history (The bounties on the Cursed One plus six Master Vampires really added up), Earl Harbinger had decided to use some of MHI's newfound wealth to augment the company's "Air Force" and had purchased trio of Vietnam-era American choppers: two UH-1 Hueys and a CH-47 Chinook.

We'd flown out in one of the Hueys with Doug's team. It turned out that our pilot, who went by "Bud," had flown Huey gunships with the 173rd Assault Helicopter Company out of Lai Khe during the Vietnam War. He'd been a cop for a number of years before having a run-in one night with a pack of goblins. He'd been off-duty at the time, and was cursing along in his vintage Pontiac Trans-Am when five of the creatures jumped him. Fortunately, he was packing heat at the time– a beautifully customized Colt Commander – and had dispatched the creatures in short order. He still had the Colt, but the goblins had totaled the Pontiac. Earl had recruited him a few weeks later, and he'd been with the company ever since. He'd been thrilled when Earl told him about the "new" Hueys and had jumped at the chance to fly one again.

Bud had dropped us off in front of SEPTA's 69th Street Terminal where we'd rendezvoused with a light company of National Guardsmen and a handful of MCB Agents before making our way into the city. It was incredibly slow-going. Every single house had to be cleared from attic to crawlspace (few had basements), and there were an average of 16 or so houses per block on each side of the street. And when survivors were found, we had to ferry them back to the Terminal to be evacuated by helicopter to one of the central command points – usually after having to convince them that we were, in fact, humans and weren't there to hurt them. Shepherding the survivors back to safety meant that a handful of us had to go with them. We occasionally got reinforcements, but the group was slowly shrinking down to nothing.

Midnight had passed long ago, and we'd only made a few blocks worth of progress. We'd somehow made our way north up Landsdown Avenue and were presently winding our way down 64th Street towards Haverford Avenue. By now it was just our team, Doug and Hodge, and a pair of very nervous National Guardsmen. We had one more house to clear on this block, but if we found survivors, we'd have to wait for reinforcements before we'd be able to continue. We'd just be stretched too damn thin.

"Hey," one of the Guardsmen said, pointing to the intersection in front of us, "Check that out."

I'd spotted it when we were about three-quarters of the way down the block. The intersection was littered with zombie corpses. I hadn't really paid it any mind when I'd first seen it, figuring the carnage to be the work of one of the MCB's helicopter gunships, but now that we were closer, I noticed something unusual. The bodies were far too intact to have been the targets of aerial strafing runs by chain guns or miniguns. In fact, nearly all of the zombies looked like they'd been dropped with a single rifle shot to the head.

"Contact!" Doug called suddenly, "Zombie at twelve o'clock!" We all looked over to see a zombie slowly lurch into the intersection.

"Got it!" Hodge called. He snapped his REPR sniper rifle – sort of a cross between my FAL and an AR-10 to his shoulder, and an instant later the loud _CRACK!_ of a rifle shot echoed down the street. The top of the zombie's head exploded and it went down hard.

"Nice shot, Hodge," Doug said.

"Uh… thanks boss," Hodge said as he slowly lowered his rifle, "only… that wasn't me."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I didn't drop the hammer on him."

"Well who did?" Dominque asked.

"There's another one!" We all turned to spot another zombie shuffle into the intersection from the opposite direction.

"Hold your fire," Doug ordered, "Let's see if—"

_Crack!_ The zombie went down hard as a second rifle shot completely destroyed its skull.

"I've got it," Odette said, "The house on the other side of the intersection, left side of the street."

"You're sure?" Doug asked.

"She's right," I chimed in, "I saw the muzzle flash. Second-story window closest to us."

We all looked at each other for a long moment, unsure of what exactly to do: this was the first bunch of armed civilians we'd come across all night.

"We'll finish the block," Doug suggested, indicating Hodge and the National Guardsmen, "You guys take the house?"

"Sure," Dominique said, "but take Chris and Shannon with you."

"Okay," he replied, "Everyone move out." Doug's group moved into their house as the five of us sprinted across the street. Fortunately, there were no more zombies in sight. We took cover behind a half-demolished police cruiser – no telling whether or not the people inside the house would take a shot at us too – and formed a half-circle facing outward to provide cover while Dominique fished out her little bullhorn from wherever she kept it.

"In the house on the corner!" she called, "Hold your fire! We are friendly, and we are here to help you! We are going to come to the front door! I say again, we are friendlies, hold your fire! We are coming to you now!" She put the bullhorn away and turned towards us. "Steve, Odette, Scotty, move in." The three of us rose to our feet and jogged out from behind the police car, heading for the house. We'd just hit the front steps when the door suddenly swung open. I snapped my FAL up before I recognized the distinctive uniform of the Philadelphia Police Department. To my surprise, the officer was carrying an old Mosin-Nagant bolt-action rifle. A second later, I realized I recognized the officer.

"Dan?" I asked in disbelief. Sure enough, it was the very same Daniel Hampton of OnTarget Firearms who'd sold me pretty much every single weapon I was carrying at the moment.

"Steve? What the hell, man? What're you doing here?"

"Killing zombies," I replied, "What're you doing here?"

"The whole department got mobilized to try and take out these… zombies? They're really zombies?" I nodded, "No shit? Anyway, I was supposed to head over to the 69th Street Terminal, but I got cut off. Zombie things attacked my car. Luckily I'd thought ahead and packed my Mosins in the trunk. Department would have my badge in a heartbeat if they knew I was carrying those around. So I fought my way out of the car to the house."

"Uh, sorry, I don't mean to break up the reunion," Scotty said, "but can we get inside, please?"

"Oh, sure, sorry." Dan cleared the doorway and the three of us hurried inside, quickly followed by Dominique and Jon.

"Is there anyone else in the house?" Dominique asked.

"Yeah, the family who owns the place is upstairs," Dan said, "This way."

The family consisted of a mother, a father, a daughter who couldn't be older than six, and two little kittens. All of them were scared to death, though the daughter – Layla – visibly relaxed upon seeing us. Odette and Jon quickly moved over towards the family to try and comfort them further.

"Doug, we've got a family in here, plus one cop," Dominique said into the radio, "We're gonna need to extract."

"Copy that," Doug replied, "We've got a family here too."

"How many people?"

"Five. Two adults and three kids. You?"

"Three adults, one child, and two cats. What do you want to do?"

"Well, it's a long way back to the terminal," Doug said, "And we're stretched thin enough that we can't leave anyone behind to escort them."

"Yeah," Dominique agreed, "We're gonna have to get an air extraction."

"Agreed," Doug said. "This is Callahan, I've got two teams at the intersection of 64th and Haverford. We've located survivors but can't get them back to 69th Street Terminal safely. Requesting helicopter extraction."

"This is Harbinger," came the reply a second later, "Are you sure you can't get to the terminal?"

"Negative," Dominique replied, "We are approximately one point five miles from the terminal, low on ammo, and we have children with us. We cannot, say again, cannot make it to the terminal on-foot safely."

"I copy," Harbinger said after a moment, "I'll try and get you some air ASAP."

"What's an air extraction?" the husband – Dominick – asked us.

"Helicopters," Chris said, "We're going to fly you guys out of here on a helicopter." Layla apparently liked that idea because she started clapping.

"I've never been on a helicopter before!" she exclaimed.

"Really? Well you're going to get your chance really soon," Odette replied with a smile. I couldn't help but marvel at how great she was around kids.

"Can Brandi and Mr. Whiskers come on the helicopter too?" she asked, gathering up her two kittens in her arms.

"You bet!" Odette replied.

"Turner, Callahan, this is Crossbow One-One" Bud's voice came over the radio, "I've got a full load of Hunters inbound to your position. ETA four minutes. Be advised that Skippy is about a minute behind me in the Hind."

"Roger that, Bud," Dominique called, "See you soon."

"Ah, there's no Bud on this channel, Turner," But said, "Crossbow One-One out." Dominique just rolled her eyes, then turned towards the family.

"Choppers will be here in about four minutes," she said, "get ready to move."

"Skippy here…" a deep, gravelly voice came over the radio, the sharp accent a little difficult to make out, "Can… Cal-A-Han… and… Turner… mark position?"

"Roger, Skippy," Hodge said, "I'm gonna pop some, ah, wait one… scratch that. I'm gonna put an infra-red strobe in the northwest corner of the intersection. Say again, infrared strobe in the northwest corner. How copy?"

"Crossbow One-One copies strobe in the northwest corner."

"Skippy under… stand."

"Crossbow One-One; be advised, our ETA is two minutes. What is your exact position?"

"There are ten of us in the house on the southeast corner of the intersection and nine of us at the northwest corner. We'll be coming from both sides."

"Skippy… land in… street… by north…west corner… hut. Hunters inside… come to my… helicopter."

"Copy that, Skippy," Doug said.

"Crossbow copies, I'll be setting down in the intersection. ETA one minute."

"Copy one minute; Turner out." Turner hefted her rifle up and turned to everyone in the room. "Let's go."

We reached the front door right as the big Huey set down in the center of the intersection. A minute later, the Hind set down in the street behind it. Personally, I was amazed that Skippy could land that big Russian bird in a narrow street like that.

The ten of us, plus the two kittens, raced down the sidewalk towards the helicopter as two dozen Hunters climbed out of the Huey. We loaded the family in first before climbing in ourselves. A moment later, we were airborne.

Layla had her hands clamped firmly over her ears and she was wincing at the incredibly loud sound (the kittens weren't enjoying it much either), but her eyes were wide with amazement as she watched the city race by underneath us.

"Were going to take you straight in to the airport," Bud said over the PA system.

"Okay," Dominique replied, giving Bud a thumbs-up.

"What's at the airport?" the wife, Keisha, asked.

"Medical staff, food and water, beds," Dominique said, "eventually you might get evacuated out of the city entirely by airplane." Keisha and Dominick shared a worried glance at that.

"ETA to the airport is about ten minutes," Bud said.

I gazed out of the window (we'd closed the doors before takeoff), watching the city fly by. It really did look like the set of _Black Hawk Down_; I could see fires burning in the darkness, flaring my night-vision monocle. Cars were wrecked, abandoned in the streets. Bodies, human and zombie, were everywhere.

Something out the window suddenly grabbed my attention.

"Hey!" I shouted into the intercom, "look there!"


	27. Chapter 27: The Shadow Of Death

"Hey! Look there!"

"What? Where?" Dominique asked. I pointed out the window at a church we were flying past.

In the light of the full moon, we could see a huge piece of posterboard hanging out of one of the upper-story windows. The message "HELP US!" had been hastily scrawled on it in bubble letters. Several people, all human, were leaning out of the window waving at us. Some of them had flashlights, which they were using like beacon lights to attract our attention."

"Bud, mark the position and call it in," Dominique said.

"I don't think there's time for that," Bud replied. "Check out the street in front of us." We all craned our necks to see out the Huey's windscreen. I felt my heart sink into my shoes. A literal wall of zombies was slowly making its way northbound, heading straight for the church.

"Call it in," Dominique insisted.

"Roger that," Bud said, then flipped on the radio. "Any assets in the vicinity of City Hall, this is Crossbow One-One. I've spotted a large number of survivors holed up in a church on the seventeen-hundred block of Delancey Street. There are a large number of zombies, estimate at least one hundred, moving northbound up Seventeenth Street towards the church. ETA on their arrival is four minutes. They need immediate extraction or they will be overrun. Can anyone come in and extract them? Over."

A painfully long minute passed, then we got a reply.

"Crossbow, this is Command. Be advised, there are no free assets available in your vicinity. Over." Bud had wired the radio into the intercom so we could all hear the conversation.

"Can you move anyone in by air? Over."

"Ah, that's a negative, Crossbow. No airlift capacity in the vicinity either. None that can make it to you in time. Over."

"Where the hell is everyone, Command?"

"Big firefight going on down in the Historic District, Crossbow. Pretty much everyone's tied up."

"Shit."

"Watch your language, Crossbow!"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. Crossbow out." Bud switched back to the intercom and turned back to us. "What do you guys want to do?" The five of us all exchanged a long glance. We were all tired, all low on ammo. We all know that when, not if, the zombies breached the church, we wouldn't be able to hold them back for very long. We all knew what the smart, logical thing to do would be.

"Set us down in that parking lot down the block," Dominique ordered. To hell with logic.

"Roger that," Bud replied then flipped back to the radio, "Skippy, we've got civilians pinned down in a church, I'm letting my Hunters off down the block to extract them."

"Roger… Bud," Skippy replied, "Skippy's Hunters… also want to… as-ist. I land… in cross-road… in front of… holy…place."

"I'm coming with you," Dan suddenly insisted. He hefted his shorter barreled Mosin carbine over his shoulder.

"The hell you are!" I said.

"He's right," Dominique added, "Putting you in with us would be suicide. You've got no weapons, no ammo, no training."

"I've got a full magazine and a couple of rounds left for my Glock and forty rounds for my Mosin," Dan insisted, "and besides this is my city. I signed up to protect it, and I'm not gonna roll over and give up just because of some stupid zombies!" Dominique and I shared a look; we both knew there's be no arguing with him.

"Fine, you're with us," Dominique said, "but everyone else stays in the chopper!"

"Hey kid," Bud called, "I've got an M14 and a chest rig with extra mags up here. Take 'em with you."

"Thanks, sir," Dan said as he leaned into the copilots seat and retrieved the weapons.

"Bring it back in one piece or I'll kick your ass from here to Cazador," Bud warned with a smile.

"Don't worry," Dan assured him, "I'll get it back to you." The rifle was a Springfield Armory SOCOM model, the one with the short 16-inch barrel, and Bud had shortened it even further by replacing the stock with a collapsing aluminum stock and fore-end unit from Sage Industries, and had also fitted it with an Aimpoint red-dot sight on top of the railed fore-end and a Surefire light on the side. There was a magazine already loaded into the rifle and three more in the chest rig. 80 rounds: more than most of us had left.

The parking lot was still filled with cars, leaving Bud unable to land the chopper and forcing us to leap onto the roofs of parked automobiles. I landed on the roof of a powder-blue Prius.

"Anyone got a satchel charge?" I asked jokingly as the big Huey took off.

"I got a few claymores," Scotty replied, immediately catching on, "One of 'em should be enough to frag that thing."

"Joke later, guys," Dominique ordered, "Move out now." We dashed across the street and down the block to the nearest entrance to the church. The zombie horde was less than three blocks from us and closing fast. We reached the door and tried it. Locked. Dominique turned towards Scotty, but he was already on it. He flipped his Benelli over to pump-action, placed the muzzle over the lock, and discharged a Hatton breaching round into the mechanism, pulverizing it. We were all inside before the sound of the echo faded.

"Find something to brace the door with!" Odette ordered. Chris, Scotty and Dan immediately ran over to the massive desk near the wall and shoved it in front of the double doors. I knew that would only buy us a few minutes: there were at least a half-dozen entrances to the church.

"This is Hodge, we're inside the church," came the call over the radio. "Looks like we're in the sanctuary. Where are you guys?"

"In the lobby," I replied. "Other end of the church."

"We've got stairs in here, but they only lead up to balconies. Sanctuary looks clear, but we'll sweep it anyways. Any ideas how we get upstairs?"

"Go through the doors at the far end of the sanctuary," I said, "Doesn't matter which side; stairs will be opposite the outer walls."

"Copy that," Hodge called, "we're heading to it."

"Roger, meet you up there," I replied, then noticed the strange looks the rest of the team was giving me. "What? My family and I came here pretty much every Sunday morning for the better part of twenty years."

"Later," Dominique barked, "We need to move now! Take the stairs here!"

"Those don't go to where the people are," I said, "Just offices up that way. They're in Fellowship Hall. Stairs to that are this way."

"Fine, lead the way."

I took point, FAL up and ready as we snaked out of the lobby. As we passed through the small coat room, I thought I heard something slam into the door. We turned the corner into a side hallway. There was a flight of steps going up on one side of the hall and an exterior door at the far end.

"This way!" I called as I charged up the stairs. Something definitely slammed into the lobby door. They – I knew it was the zombies – started pounding on the door, and I thought I heard the desk start to creak as we climbed.

The door at the top of the stairs was locked. I let the FAL hang from it sling, pulled the Mossberg from its scabbard, and loaded a breaching round into the chamber. I didn't blast the lock right away, instead reversing my grip on the weapon and pounding against the door. _Thump thump tha thump-thump_. "Shave and a hair-cut."

"Stand clear of the door!" I shouted, "We're here to help you! I'm going to have to blow the lock!"

"No, wait!" a voice called back. A second later, we all heard the loud _click_ of the latch and the door swung open. A loud _crash_ suddenly echoed up the stairs, far too close to have come from the lobby. I felt my blood turn to ice.

"They're on the stairs!" Odette shouted as she opened up on them with her UMP. Screams erupted from inside Fellowship Hall as we muscled our way inside. Odette and Dan came through last, dumping their magazines into the onrushing horde. Doug ran forward as Odette cleared the door and fired his FAL's launcher into the leading wave of zombies, pulverizing one with an oversized load of buckshot. Chris and Hodge slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt home. An instant later, the door literally shook as the wall of undead slammed into it. That threw the civilians into an even bigger panic.

"Lock the other doors!" I called. There were two more entrances into Fellowship Hall.

"Already done!" Doug called.

There were more than thirty people in Fellowship Hall not including us Hunters and Dan. They ranged in age from toddlers to the elderly, men and women of all races, ethnicities, backgrounds, and income levels. Pretty typical of the church's demographics.

"Who's in charge up here?" Dominique asked.

"T- that would be us," a very familiar voice said as two men stepped forward out of the crowd. Both were clad in three-piece suits. One was tall, clean-shaven, his light-brown hair slicked back into a sharp widow's peak. The second was older, shorter, his hair and beard sprinkled with much more salt than pepper. "Who are you people?" the tall one asked. "Are you with the Army?"

"No, we're private contractors," I explained, "We work for a company called Monster Hunter International." Both of them were incredibly surprised when they saw me.

"Stephen?" the shorter one asked, "Stephen Cooper?"

"Hello, Reverend Kent," I said with a smile. "Everyone, meet Reverend Doctor Patrick Reid and Reverend Morgan Kent. Senior Pastor and Associate Pastor, respectively. Doctor Reid, Reverend Kent, this is MHI. Dominique Turner and Doug Callahan are the two head honchos of this little group." I was cut off by a sudden, relentless pounding at the door we just came through. Screams erupted from the crowd.

"Everyone up!" Dominique said, "We have to move!"

"There are doors at the bottoms of the staircases where we came up," Doug said.

"Then we'll use those," Dominique said. This way." Everyone moved towards the closest door, only to freeze as pounding started on the other side of it. A moment later, we heard undead pounding on the third door. The screams grew more intense, and people began to cry.

"Shit!" Doug cursed, with several other Hunters joining him. I wasn't one of them. Crisis of faith or not, impending death or not, I was still in a house of God. "Is there any other way out?"

"We can get to the roof from here," Dctor Reid said, "but if we go up there, we'll still be trapped."

"We've got helicopters," Doug said, "Where's the door to the roof?"

"The kitchen, but-"

"Show us," Dominique ordered. "Keep those doors covered," she commanded us, "Anything breaks through, blast it." That last bit was pretty unnecessary.

"It's locked," Reverent Kent said.

"Who has the key?" Scotty asked.

"The custodial staff."

"Any custodians here?" Dominique asked the crowd. No one responded: most were too panicked to pay her any attention. "I need everyone's attention!" Again, no response. "People, this is important!" Still nothing.

"YO!" I shouted, "EVERYONE BE QUIET AND LISTEN UP!" The room immediately went silent. All eyes turned towards me. "Thank you! Now, does anyone here have a key to the roof? Is anyone here a custodian or maintenance worker for the church?" About thirty heads shook 'no'. "Fine," I said and turned towards the kitchen.

"Wait, what are you doing?" a man asked.

"I'm gonna blow the lock," I said, "I've got a breacher round in the shotgun."

"Don't!" the man said, "I've got a key!" I turned to see an older African American man emerge from the crowd. He was clad in overalls and a smock, and he had a keyring held aloft like it was a trophy.

"Great," Doug said, "get that door open quick." We could hear and see the doorframes to the stairways begin to creak and splinter under the relentless pounding of the zombie onslaught. The custodian hauled ass into the kitchen with Shannon on his heels, and a moment later we heard the yell "Got it!"

The crowd immediately rushed into the kitchen. The Hunters hung back, weapons ready. Any minute, one of those doors would give out, unleashing a torrent of undead into Fellowship Hall.

"What's the hold-up?" Dominique asked.

"There's another door," Shannon called. "Myron's trying to get it open."

"Myron?" I asked stupidly.

"The custodian," Shannon replied, "Wait a second… okay it's open!" The crowd immediately surged forward into the kitchen and through the doors to the rooftop. The circle of Hunters slowly tightened up as we backed up towards the kitchen door. As the last of the crowd started to shrink into the kitchen, the door we'd entered into Fellowship Hall through suddenly exploded off its hinges.

"CONTACT!" We all shouted and began pouring fire into the torrent of zombies that came spilling through. Screams erupted from the crowd as the stragglers pushed and shoved in desperation to get up the stairs. I could hear Shannon struggling to restore order, but it didn't sound like she was having much luck. I pointed by Mossberg at a zombie's head and pulled the trigger. Its face exploded in a mist of blood, brain matter, and sintered magnesium as the breaching round hit home and immediately disintegrated. I jacked a round of buckshot into the chamber and blew another zombie's head off.

"Move it, Shannon!" Dominique shouted into the radio. We were doing our best to hold the zombies back, but they were slowly pressing their way into the room. If they breached another door, we'd have a minute, maybe two, before we were completely overrun.

"Working on it!" Shannon replied, "Almost got everyone up."

"Go faster!" Doug called.

"Hang on, gotta get this kid up the ladder… Okay, he's through. Now you, Mom… okay, she's up! That's everyone! Haul ass, guys!"

"Fall back!" Dominique ordered. We were already moving, quickly backing towards the kitchen. As each Hunter reached the doorway, they disengaged from the firefight, turned and bolted through the tiny kitchen to the doors where Shannon and Myron were waiting.

"I will be the last one through!" Chris announced as he quickly loaded his last 200-round belt into his M60. "Everyone else, then me!"

I risked a quick glance backwards to see Odette reach the kitchen door and bolt through. Then Hodge, than Doug, than me. I ran through the kitchen as fast as my legs could carry me, charged through the inner door, scampered up a metal staircase so steep it might as well have been a ladder, and burst out onto the roof. Dominique followed a moment later. I could hear Chris' big machine gun firing away in one long burst, then it suddenly stopped. I felt my heart stop for a second before Myron scrambled up the ladder, with Chris coming up a second later.

"I got the inside door closed and locked!" Myron announced as he started to close the outer door.

"No, wait a second!" Scott said. Before anyone could stop him, he darted back inside. A loud, metallic pounding suddenly began emanating from inside. The zombies had reached the inner door. Scotty emerged from the door a minute later.

"What were you doing?" Dominique demanded.

"Setting up claymores on the stairs," he explained.

"What's a claymore?" Myron asked.

"Anti-personnel mines, "Scotty explained. "Basically three pounds of C-4 with a couple hundred BB's embedded in it. It goes off, anything in front of it gets vaporized. If the zombies breach the inner door, they'll trip them as they come up the stairs. I figure they'll buy us a couple of minutes and if we're lucky damage the stairs enough so the zombies can't get up them."

"Heads up!" Doug called. "Chopper incoming!" We all turned to see Skippy lower the Hind next the south side of the roof. He actually brought the big chopper so close to the building that left-side landing gear was just barely touching the top of the rampart.

Our role immediately changed from Monster Hunters to crowd control as we tried to keep the hysterical crowd from swamping the helicopter. We quickly loaded five civilians plus Odette into the already-crowded chopper. As Odette climbed into the Hind, I tossed her the keys to The Beast.

"Just in case!" I shouted, then signaled to Skippy to take off before she could protest. The Hind soared up into the moonlight. Bud swung in a moment later. His landing wasn't nearly as delecate as Skippy's; the Huey's landing skid grated over the rampart before setting down hard on the tar and gravel roof. Jon climbed into the chopper and pulled eight more civilians aboard before Bud waved us away and pulled the big helicopter into the night. That left just about eighteen civilians, including Myron, Reverend Kent, and Doctor Reid, on the roof with seven Hunters and Dan.

"How's everyone doing for ammo?" Doug asked.

"I'm down to a mag plus change for my rifle," Dominique said, "and maybe five magazines for my pistol."

"Four mags for my rifle, two for the pistol," Hodge replied, "plus two frag grenades."

"I've got maybe eighty rounds left for the Pig," Chris said as he patted his M60, "Eight pistol mags left."

"Call it two dozen shells for the Benelli plus five reloads for the Schofields," Scotty said glumly, "Plus one more claymore and a handful of stun grenades."

"I've got one magazine and a full flame charge for Boudica, and three pistol mags," Shannon said.

"I've got about one and a half magazines for my FAL, four pistol magazines, and I'm down to six breacher rounds for my shotgun," I said.

"Not-quite three mags for the M14, one mag for my Glock, and forty rounds for my Mosin," Dan said.

"And I'm down to two full mags and a few rounds for my rifle, five magazines for my pistol, and two buckshot rounds for the M203," Doug finished, "Shit."

"You can say that again," Chris said.

"Wait, what does that mean?" Reverend Kent asked.

"It means that we're dangerously low on ammunition," I answered, "so if the zombies get through those doors, unless we can get another helicopter in here, we'll only be able to hold out for a little bit."

"How long is a little bit?" Doctor Reid asked me. I shrugged and look towards Dominique.

"Five minutes tops," she said, then got on her radio. "Mayday Mayday Mayday. Anyone on this channel, this is Turner with MHI. I have a group of eight Hunters and approximately twenty civilians pinned down on a church rooftop at the corner of 17th and Spruce Streets. We are very low on ammunition and have a horde of zombies attempting to breach our position. We need immediate air extraction. I say again, we need immediate air extraction for thirty people ASAP."

For a heartbreaking moment, all was silent except for the relentless pounding of the zombies at the inner door. Dominique repeated her message, a desperate edge cracking through her calm demeanor.

"Turner, this is Paisley in the Chinook. I am inbound on your position, ETA ten minutes."

"Thank God, Paisley," Dominique sighed, "Why the hold-up?"

"I'm inbound from Valley Forge," Paisley explained. "The on-site command centers are tied up with survivors and casualties from the Historic District. They got hit pretty hard. Non-critical air traffic's being routed to the Academy. Bud and Skippy had to divert there too."

"Well haul ass, Paisley," Dominique said, "All we've got between us and about a hundred hungry zombies are two doorways, a staircase, and a pair of claymores."

"Roger that, I'm pedal to the metal," Paisley assured us. "ETA is now nine minutes. See you soon."

"Yeah, right, see you soon," Dominique replied, then cut the transmission. "I hope," she added quietly.

The minutes ticked by so slowly it was physically painful. The civilians huddled together, some of them crying, all stealing occasional frightened glances at the doorway where the relentless pounding continued. We did our best to get ourselves between them and the doorway. I glanced at my watch. About six minutes until the Chinook arrived.

A loud _CRASH!_ suddenly echoed from inside the building. The inner door had just been breached. A moment later, a muffled explosion shook the rooftop. The zombies had just tripped Scotty's first claymore.

"What do you think?" Hodge asked after a moment of heart-stopping silence, "Did that stop 'em?"

"I dunno," Scotty replied, not taking his eyes off the doorway. "It might've taken out the staircase, but I dunno. If it was wood, sure, but it's steel, and I don't know the quality. Maybe it blew a step off the latter, maybe it didn't. We'll see."

The survivors began crying. A moment later, the roof shook again as the zombies tripped Scotty's second claymore. We all instinctively raised our weapons as the shockwave pounded the doorframe.

"Steady!" Dominique called, "Steady on the line!" We'd all instinctively formed a wide crescent in front of the door, guns up and ready, safeties off, fingers just outside the trigger guards. For what felt like hours, there was nothing. No one moved, no one spoke. All eyes were focused on the steel door. I risked a frightened glance at my watch, as if taking my eyes off the door would cause the zombies to come bursting through the door. Five minutes until the Chinook arrived.

_WHAM!_ Something slammed into the door hard enough to shake it. The crowd screamed. The Hunters cursed.

The zombies were on the stairs.

"Okay," Dominique said, "this is what we're going to do. The only way they can get to us is through that door, so they'll be bottlenecked in there. We're going to form a line, single-file. One Hunter fires at a time. Semi-auto only. Aimed fire at the heads, but quick shots. Don't let 'em through that door. Once you empty the magazine, back of the line and reload. If you run dry on your long gun, transition to your pistol and wait. Once everyone's long guns run dry, we open up with pistols. Clear?"

"I've only got breachers for my shotgun," I reminded her, "want me to run those?"

"Everything we've got."

"I don't think the flamethrower's a good idea," Shannon said.

"Agreed," Doug said. They were right; the range was too short so we'd set the building on fire, plus zombies don't react to fire, so we'd have a bunch of flaming zombies trying to kill us instead of regular zombies.

"Last ditch only," Dominique told her, "and by that I mean we're out of ammo, grenades, everything else, and backed into a corner with nowhere to go but down. Understand?" Shannon nodded.

The pounding on the door increased in intensity. Dust flew off the door. The frame started to creak and I could see cracks start to form around the deadbolt and hinges. Doctor Ried and Reverent Kent got everyone down on their knees and began to pray The Lord's Prayer. After a moment, I realized I was softly praying along with them.

"Paisley, where the hell are you?"

"I'm four minutes out, Dominique, just hang on."

"Haul ass, man," and for the first time, I heard genuine fear in Dominique's voice.

"Bull-shit four minutes," Chris said quietly, so the crowd couldn't hear him, "they're gonna be through that door in one minute. He was right; the wooden frame was cracking around the hinges now and I could see big splinters flying off.

"Form up!" Dominique shouted, "Scotty, you're up first."

"Got it!" Scotty leapt into position twenty feet from the shaking, creaking door. We all fell in behind him, guns at low-ready. My brow was damp with cold sweat, my breathing was becoming ragged. I knew that it would only be a matter of seconds until

_CRASH!_

The door exploded from the frame out onto the roof. Scotty's finger stroked the trigger before the door hit the ground. Eight undead skulls exploded in less than three seconds before Scotty called "out!" and smoothly cleared Hodge's line of fire.

Hodges customized REPR sniper rifle had two optical sights: a Nightforce scope mounted atop the receiver and a small Aimpoint Micro mounted at a 45-degree angle next to it. Hodge canted the rifle over to sight through the little red-dot sight and opened up on the zombies. Twenty shots; eighteen head shots. He scooted left and raced for the back of the line.

Shannon raised Boudica and pumped her last ten buckshot shells into ten zombie skulls. Doug stepped up, raised his shortened FAL, and discharged the launcher clipped under the barrel. The oversized shotgun shell disintegrated four heads with one pull of the trigger. He unloaded his thirty-round magazine, taking out twenty-seven zombies before running dry. Jon stepped up to the line, raised his Broadsword, and downed twenty more one after the other. Dominique repeated the feat.

Then it was my turn. I snapped my FAL to my shoulder and fired, pumping out round after round like a typewriter would stamp letters. Zombie after zombie went down, each with a round dead-center between its eyes. Never had I shot so well. The bolt locked back. I was out.

"LOADING!" I called to Dan as I cleared his field of fire, stripping the old mag from the gun as I moved. I only had one magazine left, and I knew it was only about half-full.

Dan ran dry a few seconds later and moved to the rear of the line. Chris fired off a thirty-round burst before moving to the back, bringing Doug up to the front again. Shannon stood off to the side, near the civilians. She was out of ammo for her huge shotgun and was down to her pistol now. Out of the rest of us, only Dan and Hodge had more than two full magazines. And the zombies were still coming.

We went through the line again, dropping several dozen more zombies. The staircase was clogged with the bodies of the undead now, but the ones behind just shoved some out of the way and climbed over the others, desperate to fulfill their single-minded drive to feed on living flesh.

Now Dominique and Dough were down to their pistols. My FAL had run dry and I'd switched to my shotgun. Chris was down to less than twenty rounds for his M60.

More zombies pushed their way onto the roof.

We went through the line again. Now it was only Dan and Hodge left with long guns. The rest of us moved the survivors behind a big HVAC unit near the edge of the roof. Scotty set up his last claymore about forty feet from the door just as Dan and Hodge ran dry and fell back towards us.

"Hold your fire!" Scotty shouted as Dan and Hodge ducked behind the HVAC unit. "I'll trip the claymore once they get close enough. That'll thin them out! Save your ammo until I blow it!"

The zombies clambered out of the door, dozens of them, one after the other. They climbed on and over their fallen comrades as they stepped out onto the rooftop. They milled about at first, searching for prey, until Scotty tapped the side of the HVAC with one of his Schofields. Then they honed in on the noise like sharks sensing blood in the water. Scotty just crouched there with his head craned around the side of the HVAC, Schofield in his right hand and the claymore's detonator in his left. I stood up to look over the big air conditioning unit, watching the zombies shuffle closer… closer…

"Uh, Scotty," I said with a nervous edge in my voice, "whenever you feel like hitting it…"

"No," he said, his voice now hard as steel. "They're not close enough."

"No offense, but they look pretty darn close to me." Scotty didn't say anything, he just watched with predators eyes as the zombies shuffled ever closer to that little green crescent-shaped box with "FRONT TOWARDS ENEMY" written on one side. When the zombies had closed within a yard of the mine, I turned back to Scotty.

"Scotty…" he didn't move. The zombies closed to two feet. "Scotty, now would be a really good time." Scotty didn't so much as twitch. One foot. "Scot-"

Scotty suddenly rolled back behind the HVAC. I had just enough time to get behind cover before he shouted "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" and jammed the clacker closed once, twice, three times.

Even through my earplugs, the sound was incredible. Even with the big, thick HVAC between me and the mine, the shockwave still punched me hard in the gut. I could barely hear the civilians screaming over the echo and the ringing in my ears.

As one, the Hunters rose from behind the air conditioning unit, pistols up, safeties off, fingers seeking triggers.

The sight that greeted our eyes was beautiful in its horror. A gooey red paste covered the rooftop. Every zombie between where the claymore had been and the door had been atomized. One that had been standing next to the mine had been blown to the far edge of the roof. Its legs were gone, ripped off just below the hip, and the rest of the body had been smashed in by the shockwave. It didn't take more than a quick glance to tell that the thing was dead.

All of which quickly became of little comfort as I saw a dozen more zombies come flooding through the door with three dozen more directly on their heels.

"Open fire!" Dominique yelled. We complied in an instant. We fired as fast as we could line up our sights on a zombie's head and pull the trigger. My SIG locked empty, I stripped the mag and reloaded, watching in awe as Dan ran his Glock like a DELTA operator instead of a Philly beat cop and Scotty firing a Schofield in each hand, taking zombies down with headshot after headshot like a modern-day John Wayne.

But the zombies kept on coming. It seemed like every zombie in the city was trying to claw its way onto the rooftop and get to us.

"Paisley!" Dominique called desperately as her HK45 ran dry "Where the hell are you!"

"I'm two minutes out," came the reply, "Just hold on!"

"Haul ass!" Dominique screamed as she locked a fresh magazine into her pistol and resumed firing. Dan's Glock hand run dry for the last time and he'd discarded it. He was crouched down beside the big HVAC unit with his Mosin carbine, firing it like an old single-shot rifle, loading a fresh round into the chamber after each shot. Scotty was only using one Schofield now, firing it with one hand and prepping a speed-loader with the other. We were all still firing as fast as we could pull the triggers. But the zombies didn't stop coming through the door.

Hodge was out of ammo completely now, as was Shannon. They stood slightly behind the rest us, blades already unsheathed and in hand, waiting for the inevitable moment when the gunfight would end and the hand-to-hand melee would begin.

My SIG locked back on my last magazine. I racked the slide home, holstered it, and drew my baby SIG from the shoulder rig. I double-tapped three zombies in the face and put a round through a fourth's eyeball before the gun ran dry. I holstered the little pistol and drew my swords, instinctively shouting a Japanese battle cry as the blades cleared their sheaths.

"Can I borrow one of those?" Dan asked. I looked at him stupidly for a second, then remembered he was the only one of us without a blade.

"You know how to use one of these?"

"I took kendo in school, remember?" he reminded me, "and I've kept up with it since graduation."

"Okay, sure. Any preference as to which one?"

"I'm actually better with the wakasashi."

"Great," I said as I handed the blade over, "I'm better with the katana." Then our radios crackled.

"Dominique, I'm one minute out. I need you to mark your position for me," Paisley called.

"I got it!" Shannon said. She sheathed her big Kuhkri, snatched up Boudica, and ran to the edge of the roof. She pointed the big shotgun skyward before triggering a three-second burst from the flamethrower. She waited a few more seconds, then triggered another pillar of flame.

"Okay, I see you guys," Paisley said just as Chris ran out of pistol ammo, "I'm inbound. Hang on." We ignored him, instead moving out in front of the HVAC and forming a line between the zombies and the civilians.

"Hold this line!" Doug ordered, "Do not let any of them get past you! Understood?" We all nodded. We knew the stakes: either we held the undead off long enough for Paisley and the Chinook to get to us, or the civilians died.

The horde pressed through the door and shuffled towards us, hands outstretched, seeking our flesh, our blood. I flexed my hands on the katana's hilt, then twirled the weapon in my hand as I brought the weapon into _Hasso_ – raising the weapon so the _tsuba_ was level with my jaw and the tip of the blade was pointed skyward – and lowered myself into fighting stance.

The zombies reached Scotty first. He plunged one of his axes deep into the undead's skull before taking the head clean off with the other. One entered within reach of me. I took its head off in one clean, powerful blow.

Then the horde was on us in full force.

Steel flashed in the moonlight. Blood sprayed everywhere. Heads, limbs, and other assorted body parts flew across the roof. We fought hard, cutting through them like scythes cutting through grass. Yet for every one we destroyed, ten more moved forward to take its place. The horde pressed against us like a wall, forcing us slowly back towards the civilians.

"PAISLEY, THIS IS TURNER!" Dominique screamed into the radio, "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!"

There was no answer. My heart sank as I lopped the head off yet another zombie. My dream had been wrong. I was going to die, not in the Art Museum, not at the hand of a Master Vampire, but on a rooftop with most of my team and over a dozen civilians, all of us at the hands – and teeth – of a horde of mindless half-decayed zombies. Part of me was wishing for the Vampire instead.

The roof was suddenly awash with noise. Fierce downdrafts drove us to our knees and sent the zombies sprawling. I looked up to see a huge shape thunder slowly overhead. It was a long cylinder with a misshapen dome on one end and a blunt, slanted wall on the other. A pair of giant rotors sprouted from the top of the craft, holding it aloft and sending zombie parts flying.

I almost wept for joy at the sight. It was the Chinook. Long, fat, and ungainly, it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

"Fall back!" Doug shouted over the rotor wash, "Keep the crowd under control! Do not let them swarm the chopper!" But the crowd was already surging towards the edge of the roof, desperate to reach the safety and sanctuary that they knew the inside of the big helicopter would give them. Dan broke off from the line and raced ahead of the crowd, his newly-forged crowd-control skills coming into play. Doug peeled off a second later and joined him. The rest of us spread out, still hacking, slashing, chopping, and slicing at the undead wave as it slowly pressed us back towards the edge.

The big helicopter swung over the edge of the building. Its rear cargo ramp slowly lowered down and a crew member appeared in the open hatchway. The chopper backed up until the lip of the ramp crossed above the rampart, then the chopper slowly, slowly lowered down until the ramp touched the rooftop. I couldn't help but marvel at the sight: the massive helicopter hung perfectly still over the sidewalk as if held in place by wires.

The crowd surged forward, racing up the ramp and into the chopper, bowling aside the crew chief and several Hunters in their panic to escape the undead.

"Break ranks and fall back to the chopper!" Doug ordered as the last civilian climbed aboard, "Move!" We immediately broke ranks and sprinted for the helicopter. I quickly started to lag behind everyone else – I'm a distance runner, not a sprinter – but was still able to keep ahead of the undead masses.

Then I saw Hodge go down.

He was about five feet in front of me when he tripped on something and faceplanted the tar roof. I backpedalled, trying to stop and help the fallen Hunter. Then I saw what he'd tripped over.

It was Myron.

The custodian was curled up in a fetal position, clutching at his ankle. His foot was bent in an unnatural position. He must have rolled his ankle while running and broken it. I immediately grabbed Myron's arms and hauled him to his feet.

"C'mon, let's go!" He draped his arm over my shoulder, using me as a crutch as we raced as fast as three good feet would carry us over to the helicopter. Doug and Chris ran down the ramp to meet us. They grabbed Myron and dragged him into the Chinook. Once I saw they had him, I turned back down the ramp towards Hodge.

And my heart stopped.

Hodge was surrounded by zombies. He swung his blade – an old entrenching tool – in a wide circle, cleaving zombie heads from zombie bodies and forming a wide ring of death and destruction around him.

"HODGE!" I ran down the ramp onto the roof, my katana up and ready. HODGE turned towards the sound of my voice.

My heart stopped again.

Three long, wicked cuts ran down his face, bleeding profusely. I knew instantly what caused that wound. A zombie had gotten past his defenses, had managed to claw him. Had managed to infect him.

"HODGE!" Emotion overrode logic. I had to get to Hodge. Had to get him on the chopper. Had to get him to safety.

"NO!" he shouted at me, "GET OUT OF HERE! GO!"

"HODGE, COME ON!"

"GO!" He screamed. He let the entrenching tool fall from his hands, one of which was bleeding from a bite wound, and reached towards two egg-shapes on his vest, one on each shoulder.

"HODGE, NO! DON'T!"

"GO! RUN!" He grabbed the safety pins. "GET TO THE CHOPPER!"

"HODGE!" I watched in horror as Hodge pulled the pins from his two frag grenades and turned away from me.

"_NNNOOOOOOOOO!_"

Hodge's upper body disappeared in a spray of crimson blood. His body absorbed most of the grenades' energy, shielding me and the chopper from shrapnel and directing the force of the blast into the onrushing horde. He'd turned himself into a human version of one of Scotty's claymores.

Someone in the chopper opened up with a machine gun, cutting down the zombies like blades of grass under a lawnmower. Strong arms grabbed me and pulled me back into the Chinook. I fought to escape, desperate to get to Hodge, desperate to get what was left of him away from the zombies, to save him from being eaten like a slaughtered cow. It was no good; I might as well have been fighting against steel cables.

The rear hatch raised up, sealing the horde off from us as the big helicopter lifted off into the moonlight.

"I contacted the airport," Paisley said over the intercom, "They've cleared us a slot. We'll be on the ground in less than ten minutes."

I was too busy throwing up to pay attention.


	28. Chapter 28: City Hall

The Chinook was greeted at the airport by a mass of Hunters, doctors, and a handful of MCB Agents. The doctors rushed us over to a big hangar where an improvised medical center had been set up. They checked us over for any injuries to make sure we hadn't been bitten. The Hunters stood between us and the MCB Agents, probably to keep the Feds from shooting us "just to be safe."

Fortunately, while there were a handful of injuries – mainly civilians who'd been hurt in the mad rush to get out of the church and then into the helicopter – none had been infected, so the civilians were ushered into the main medical facility to be checked over both physically and psychologically (not everyone has flexible minds like us Hunters), the rest of the Hunters set off in search of the armory to re-up and re-arm, and the MCB Agents stalked away to look for other people to threaten.

I wandered aimlessly about the command center, not really sure what to do or where to go. Even though I'd purged my stomach of every ounce of bile back on the Chinook, I still felt an overwhelming urge to vomit. Every time I closed my eyes, even to blink, I saw Hodge's face, I saw the wicked, bleeding scratches that had already become infected, and I saw his body explode in a shower of gore.

Doctor Bryson's words echoed in my head with every step I took. _"You will have to make the choice between two lives. The person you save will live, but the other will die."_ I'd made the choice: I'd saved Myron's life, but in doing so had left another man – a good man, a brave man – to die a horrific death.

I don't know how long I wandered around the makeshift base – time had become a hazy blur – but I eventually found myself entering a small hangar that had been converted into a mess hall or restaurant. It was only about a quarter full; most of the people on-base were either sleeping or prepping to go back into the city. I wandered into the very back, away from everyone else, and plopped down at a table in the very farthest corner.

I couldn't get the vision out of my head. Even with my eyes wide open, I could still see Hodge's upper body being torn apart by the two little frag grenades. The moment replayed itself over and over in my mind in slow motion as it etched itself permanently into my brain.

Doctor Bryson had lied to me. He'd said that I would only be able to save one of them. But as I watched Hodge's death replay itself in my mind a dozen times over, I realized that I could have saved them both. If I'd taken not even half a second to help Hodge get back to his feet, then the two of us could have gotten Myron to the Chinook, and everyone would have gotten off that rooftop alive. But I hadn't done that. I'd ignored Hodge, and in doing so had left him to the zombie's.

I'd killed Hodge.

A National Guardsmen – actually a Guardswoman – walked over and asked me if she could get me anything? Something to eat, or drink… would I like a cup of coffee? I waved her away. My stomach was still tying itself in knots, and either way I just wanted to be alone.

"Damn, kid. You look like you've been gut-shot." I looked up to see Doug and Dominique walking over to the table.

"Guys, I'd really rather be alone right now."

"Tough shit," Doug said as he slid into the seat across from me. Dominique stood behind him, arms crossed over her chest. No one spoke for a while: they stared at me while I bored a hole through the table with a thousand-yard stare. I finally got sick of feeling their gazes on me and sighed in disgust.

"Look, I get it, okay?" I snapped, "I screwed up. I know. I screwed up, and got Hodge killed."

"Wait, what?" Doug said, "Kid, you didn't—"

"I left him to die," I continued, ignoring him. "You know it and I know it. I could've gotten him on the chopper, but I didn't. I fucked up, and now he's—"

_WHAM!_ My heart skipped a beat and I almost fell out of my chair in surprise as Doug abruptly slammed both of his fists down on the table. All eyes in the cafeteria turned towards our table, but Dominique shot each person a glare that would've made the Terminator shake in his boots, so they quickly went back to minding their own business.

"Bullshit," Doug snarled, "That is absolute bullshit."

"No," I bit back, "It's the—"

"Shut up," Doug ordered. I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off, "No, you shut the hell up and listen to me. I saw you on the roof. We both did. You did everything exactly right. You did exactly what you were trained to do."

"No I—"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up and listen? You did exactly what you were supposed to do back there." I just shook my head. "Okay, answer me this: what's your job? No, scratch that: what is MHI's job?"

"To kill monsters," I replied sarcastically.

"Wrong!" he said, then made a sound like a game-show buzzer.

"Huh? Have you been smoking something?"

"Our job is to _save people_ from monsters," Doug said, "even if it means we die in the process. You know that, I know that, Dominique knows it, and so did Hodge."

"Yeah," I said lamely, "but…"

"But what? Look, Dominique and I both saw what happened. When you got to Hodge and that custodian, the zombies were right on your heels. If you'd stopped to help both of them, they would've overrun you. Hodge knew that. He knew the three of you wouldn't be able to make it, so he bought you enough time to get to the chopper."

"But… it isn't fair," I said.

"I know it," Doug said, his voice kind, "I know it, kid."

"No, I mean… I mean he survived Black Hawk Down. He was Delta, he survived being trapped in a hostile city for nearly fifteen hours, under fire the whole time. It isn't right for him to have died like that, here, in his own country at the hands of a bunch of mindless undead… things."

"You're right," Doug agreed, "only Hodge wasn't Delta."

"Okay, a Ranger, but either way…"

"He was Air Force."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Air Force Pararescue. He fast-roped in on the first crash site, stayed there trying to get the pilot's body out. But you're right; it wasn't fair for him to die like that. But I don't think he cared."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what the motto of the Parajumpers is?"

"That Others May Live," I said automatically. I'd been a huge military junkie back when I was a kid.

"Exactly," Doug replied, "you didn't know Hodge, but to him that phrase was more than just a motto: it was his code. He lived and breathed it every day of his life. He knew that the day might come that he'd have to lay down his life for his fellow Hunters, and he was more than prepared to do that. He knew what he was doing up on the roof; it was his choice. It wasn't your fault. Understand?"

"Yeah," I said weakly, "yeah."

"Hey, I know you're hurting," Dominique said, "we all are. Hell, I went through my Newbie course with Hodge."

"How do you deal with it?" I said, "I mean, I've lost people before…"

"But not like this," Dominique said, "I hate to say it, Steve, but the only reason I can cope is because I've been in your shoes too damn many times." She let that sink in for a minute before continuing, "You're going to lose friends in this business, Steve. There's no way to avoid it. You know what the stakes are."

"I know," I said affirmatively. "I mean, I'd known going in that it was a possibility, but there's a difference between knowing something in the back of your mind and seeing it happen."

"Yeah, especially like that," Dominique said, "At least he didn't suffer long." All three of us nodded somberly.

"You good?" Doug asked after a minute.

"No," I said, "but I'm better than I was."

"Good, 'cause I just remembered why we came lookin' for you in the first place." At my puzzled glance, he explained.

"That horde of zombies that hit us at the church wasn't heading that way by chance. It was moving towards City Hall."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because virtually every zombie in the city is either outside city hall or else making its way towards there," Dominique said, "We've hit them very hard tonight; we figure we've taken out between one half to two thirds the total number of zombies in the city, so we think whatever created them is holed up in City Hall and has summoned the rest of the horde to protect it."

"And we're planning on hitting City Hall and taking out the creator," I surmised.

"Bingo," Doug said.

"When?"

"Yesterday," Dominique said, "Re-up and re-arm and meet over at the flightline for briefing ASAP."

There were eight of us crammed into the back of the Hind: Me, Dominique, Shannon, Chris, Scotty, Doug, a National Guardsmen who claimed to have been a sniper in the Green Berets, and Agent Simpkin. We were one of two choppers that was going to hit City Hall. The other was a National Guard Black Hawk containing Sam Haven's team plus four Hunters from other teams. That added up to a team of not quite twenty, far from ideal, but it was all that could be scraped together on such short notice. We were circling City Hall, and the sight below made me feel ill. The streets were literally overflowing with zombies. We'd be overwhelmed the second we hit the ground.

Fortunately, we weren't going in alone.

"Scalpel One, this is Gunfighter Five-One. Be advised, we're commending our run. Recommend you clear the airspace around the target building ASAP."

Scalpel was the code name for the strike team, while Gunfighter Five-One was the leader of a flight of four AH-64 Apache attack helicopters belonging to the Monster Control Bureau. Gunfighter would sweep the streets around City Hall clear of zombies, leaving them open long enough for the Hind and Blackhawk to get us on the ground and then for us to get into the building. Once we were inside, they would then provide suppressing fire, keeping the horde away from City Hall until we could find the Zombie Creator and neutralize it. Of course, the whole plan hinged on the Creator actually being in City Hall. If it wasn't and the Apaches ran out of ammo before we could get out of the building…

"Copy, Gunfighter. Scalpel is vacating airspace. You're clear to start your run."

"Roger that, Scalpel. Gunfighter is inbound."

I could barely hear the radio exchange. Shortly after take-off, I'd learned that the interior of the Hind had been modified with a kick-ass sound system, and Skippy apparently made it a habit of blaring heavy metal at full-volume whenever the chopper was in the air. His music of choice on this flight was Cabbage Point Killing Machine. I wasn't too familiar with that group, but they actually pretty good (I'm picky when it comes to metal bands), and apparently Owen's younger brother was their lead guitarist. I made a mental note to buy a couple of their songs off of iTunes once I got back to Scranton. Assuming of course that I didn't have the encounter with Robert first.

Whoever designed Philadelphia, or at least City Hall, was an idiot. The building sits right smack-dab in the center of the intersections of Market and Broad Streets – the two busiest streets in Philadelphia. The two roads are forced to curve around the building in what amounts to a huge traffic circle, which in turn causes a perpetual traffic jam around the historic building.

Now, however, the traffic circle actually came in handy. Each Apache picked a different side of the building, swept down from the moonlit sky, and opened up with their chain guns. It was absolute carnage. The big 30mm shells from the chain guns slung under the Apaches' noses were designed to kill armored vehicles. Any zombie that was hit was instantly vaporized, and shrapnel from the impact took out any zombie within a good thirty feet or so of the actual hit. After less than five seconds, the square of roadway around City Hall had been cleared. A minute later, the streets leading into the roundabout had likewise been swept clean of the undead.

"Scapel, this is Gunfighter Five-One. Target area is cleared, you are go for insertion."

"Roger that, Gunfighter," the Black Hawk pilot responded, We're going in. Scalpel Two, take the south side of the building. We've got the north."

"Roger," Skippy replied. "Set-ting down… now."

The Hind touched down in a storm of dust, debris, and pulverized Zombie bits. The team was on the ground and moving towards the old building seconds later. We reached the door, only to find it locked. It took Scotty five seconds and one breacher round to solve that problem.

When I passed through the doorway into City Hall's lobby, I was expecting an immediate shootout. We all were. The briefing had said the building was full of zombies, and it would be a bloodbath of a firefight just to make our way into the building, let alone get to the Zombie Creator.

Imagine our surprise when we rushed into the lobby with our guns up and ready only to find it deserted. Dominique recovered first.

"Move in," she barked, "Stay alert. We need to clear the rooms." She turned to her radio. "This is Turner, we're inside. South Lobby is deserted."

"Sam here, we're inside too. North Lobby's quiet as a tomb. Ain't there supposed to be zombies here?"

"That's what they told us, Sam. We need to clear the building. Tell your guys to stay sharp."

"Roger that," Sam said, then chuckled. "Say, did you know my middle name's Roger?"

"Yes, Sam," Dominique sighed, "You've told me. At least twenty times." Sam just laughed. "Anyway, if you find civilians, get them somewhere secure until we can evacuate them."

"Roger that," Sam replied. Over the radio, I could hear him winding up for another crack.

"Don't even think about it, Haven," Dominique warned, acid in her words.

"Damn it, Turner, you ain't no fun sometimes."

"Will you shut up and get moving?"

"Roger that. And don't worry, I won't. Sam out." Dominique rolled her eyes in frustration. Simpkin shook his head in amazed disbelief.

"Move it!" Dominique snapped, venting her annoyance at Sam Haven on the rest of us.

We systematically moved down the hallway, clearing each room one by one. The first room we found was a conference room, it was empty. Simpkin decided that any civilians we found were to be brought back there. Dominique concurred, so the rest of us Hunters decided to go along with it. Scotty and I took point, ready to turn any zombies into undead pulp with our shotguns. Amazingly, we encountered no zombies whatsoever as we made our way deeper into the building. We did, however, find a few civilians, mostly in ones and twos holed up in offices. One person from our group would run them back to the conference room. Chris had gone back there with the first group we'd found and was now guarding it: his machine gun would make short work of any zombies that stumbled across the civilians.

Eventually, it came down to Me, Doug, and Agent Simpkin. It was the last office on the hall. The door was locked. Doug kicked it in. A woman's scream shattered the quiet hallway.

"It's okay!" Doug shouted, "We're human! You can come out!" No one appeared. Instead, the scream tapered off and was replaced by sobbing. It took me a second to figure out where it was coming from; under the desk. I quickly pointed out the desk to Doug and Simpkin, then set down my shotgun and rifle.

"What are you doing?" Simpkin whispered. I ignored him, instead slowly walking around the desk and crouching down beside it. There was a young woman crouched under there. She was probably only a year or two older than me, but her face was so consumed with terror that she looked at least a decade older.

"It's okay," I said gently, "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to get you out."

"You… you…" she stammered out between sobs, "Are… are you… the Army?"

"Well, kinda…"

"Oh thank God!" she cried, leaping out from under the desk and throwing her arms around me.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," I said as I tried my best to gently pull her off of me, "You're safe now, okay? We're going to get you out of here…"

"No, you don't understand!" she said, suddenly frantic. "You have to stop her!"

"Her?" I asked. "Who?"

"I don't know! She's upstairs, in the City Council President's office! She did this! She made the… the… the… things."

"Where's the President's office?" I asked, suddenly deadly serious.

"Fourth floor, Room 407," she said, "you have to stop her!" I was already racing for the door, snatching up my FAL and the Mossberg as I darted past them.

"Hey, wait, don't OOF!" Simpkin gasped as I bowled him and Doug aside.

There was an emergency staircase at the end of the hall. I charged into it and took the steps three at a time, only pausing at the second story landing to replace my Mossberg in its sheath. There was a clatter on the steps below, and a moment later Agent Simpkin raced past me.

"Don't you know to wait for backup?"

"I thought Feds could run fast!" I replied as I took off after him. I soon found myself eating my words: he _was_ fast. I was a pretty good runner myself, but I could barely keep up with the MCB Agent. By the time we reached the fourth floor, I'd worked up a pretty good sweat, but I didn't think that Simpkin was even breathing hard. He charged into the hallway, with me struggling to keep up. We raced passed doorway after doorway until Simpkin suddenly stopped short and I almost ran into him.

We'd reached Room 407.

The door was closed. Simkin motioned for me to cover him, then kicked it open with one solid blow.

"MCB! Free—YEAAAARGH!"

I charged into the room, FAL up and ready. Simpkin was on the floor, gabbing at his leg and writhing in agony. I looked up. Standing behind the desk was an older woman – she looked like an older, scarier, and uglier version of Tia Dalma from the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ movies. A Voodoo Priestess. There was a doll sitting atop the desk, a big, ugly-looking needle shoved through its leg.

The Priestess was chanting something in a language I didn't recognize and waving her hand above a second doll. She pulled another needle out of the folds of her raggedy dress. I knew right away what she was going to do. She never got the chance.

I snapped my FAL to my shoulder and started pulling the trigger as fast as I could go. The Priestess screamed as a hail of heavy .30-caliber bullets slammed into her, throwing her back across the room and pinning her to the wall. I was firing so fast that I could barely keep the big rifle on target. The bolt finally locked back on an empty magazine. The Priestess' chest and abdomen were gone, shredded into hamburger. She slowly slid down the wall, leaving a deep crimson smear in her wake.

Simpkin suddenly stopped screaming and gasped in relief. He tenderly grasped his leg, reluctantly as if expecting more pain, then began to massage feeling back into it.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, wincing as pins and needles suddenly shot down his thigh, "I'm good."

"NNNOOOOOOO!" Simpkin and I looked over towards the scream, and for the first time spotted the woman who'd been cowering in the corner of the room. It was the City Council President.

"Ma'am, it's okay," I assured her, "You're okay. It's over…"

"NO!" she screamed, "You don't understand! You've ruined everything!" I blinked, my jaw falling open in surprise. Was she suffering from Stockholm Syndrome or something?

"What did we ruin?" I asked cautiously.

"It was the only way to save the city!" she ranted on, ignoring me, "The tax hikes didn't work, the budget cuts didn't work, there was nothing else we could do! I had to thin it out! I had to save the city!"

"Thin it out?" I asked, suddenly feeling ill, "You mean… you hired her to do this?"

"It was the only way! The city was dying…"

"The city's almost dead now, thanks to you! There's at least ten thousand people dead in the streets, if we're lucky, and thousands more injured!"

"If we're lucky? That's not enough! There's still too many of them! I had to save the city, and now you've ruined it! You've ruined everything you… you…" the avowed, sometimes fanatical feminist wracked her brain for the most scathing insult she could throw at me. "You… you bad… bad… _man!_ You bad… bad… bad… _man!_ Men like you always ruin everyth—" I cut her off as I abruptly dropped my FAL, pulled the Mossberg from its scabbard, and pressed the shotgun's muzzle against her nose. Her eyes crossed comically as she stared down the barrel at me.

"Good? Bad?" I racked a shell into the chamber. "Lady, I'm the guy with the gun."

A trio of gunshots erupted and she dropped, two holes in her side and a third where her left ear had been. I hit the deck and went urban-prone, leveling my shotgun at the source of the gunfire. Agent Simpkin was leaning against the doorframe, his customized Delta Elite locked in an isosceles stance. Smoke drifted lazily out of the barrel.

"What the hell, Simpkin!" I shouted, "Why didn't you let me—"

"Because I was enforcing the Unearthly Forces Collaboration Act," he explained, "whereas if you'd killed her, Willard would've charged you with murder and gotten MHI shut down. And unlike most of the Bureau, I appreciate the help you guys give us."

I was shocked into silence. A Fed who was actually okay with us operating? The radio suddenly crackled.

"This is Harbinger. Someone want to tell me what the hell just happened?"

"What happened?" Chris asked.

"All the zombies dropped dead all at once about a minute ago."

"This is Cooper," I said quickly, "There was a Voodoo Priestess in City Hall. She'd created the zombies. I took her out just a minute ago."

"What the hell's a Voodoo Priestess doing in Philly?" a voice asked.

"This is MCB Agent Simpkin. The President of the City Council hired her. Apparently, she thought the only way to save the city was to kill it."

"This is Director Myers. Where is the Council President now?"

"She was in violation of UFCA, sir. I prosecuted her."

"Good," Myers said evenly. I felt a chill go down my spine.

"Good work, Cooper," Earl said happily, "Y'all get out of there. We'll get a chopper in to pick you up in a minute."

"Thanks, Earl," I replied, "Out." I turned to Simpkin. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," he said, "I'm good to go. Let's get the hell out of here." He grimaced slightly as he put weight on his leg, but I didn't press the issue.

Unfortunately, Simpkin's bravado only lasted until we reached the staircase. The elevators had all been disabled, leaving that our only option to get down, and no sooner had Simpkin started down than his leg clenched up and started to fall. He would've gone down hard if I hadn't managed to grab him in time. It took the two of us a long time to get down the stairs. I wanted to radio one of the guys downstairs to come up and help us, but Simpkin adamantly refused. By the time the two of us got down to the lobby, everyone else had already left the building. As we walked through the door, cheers erupted from the sidewalk. The two of us stopped in surprise as both teams ran over to congratulate us, shake our hands, pat us on the back, whatever.

"Good goin' Cooper!" Sam Haven said as he swatted my back so hard that I almost toppled over, "Wish I coulda seen ya waste that skank-assed, monkey-humping Commie voodoo bitch! You ain't a half-bad Hunter for a damn Yankee." Sam was from Texas and held Northerners in a relatively dim light.

"Thanks, Sam," I said, wincing, "But Simpkin distracted her for me."

"You call getting my leg all fucked up by voodoo distracting her for you?"Simpkin asked.

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"You got voodooed?" Dominique asked.

"Yeah, she used a doll on me, stuck a pin in the leg…"

"Get this man to a medic now!" Dominique ordered. Two National Guardsmen immediately appeared and whisked Simpkin into a nearby Hummer before he could protest. Everyone else gathered around me and continued with the high-fiving and hand-shaking and back-slapping.

"Hey," Shannon said suddenly, "Do you guys hear that?" A second later, we all heard the sound of a big V8 engine echoing down the streets. That engine sounded familiar. A little too familiar…

"No way." I shoved through the crowd, reaching the street just in time to see The Beast come around the side of the building. Odette was behind the wheel with Jon in the passenger seat. Both of scanned the crowd anxiously until Odette saw me. For what felt like an eternity, our eyes locked, and I could see her fear and anxiety suddenly evaporate. Then she jammed on The Beast's brakes, bringing the big muscle car to a screeching halt. The car had barely stopped moving than Odette leapt from the vehicle and raced over towards me. I waved at her.

"Hey…"

_WHAP!_ I took a step back in surprise, my cheek stinging where she'd slapped me. All conversation immediately ceased as everyone turned to look at us.

"Okay…" I said slowly, "I know I was a jerk to you before, but I'm not sure I deserved that…"

"Don't you _ever_ do that again!"

"Do what again?"

"Scare me like that," she said, tears welling up in her eyes. "I thought that you… you knew you weren't going to make it off that roof."

"I almost didn't."

"I know, I… I heard about Hodge. But I thought you were going to… to…"

"To not make it on purpose?" She nodded. "No way. You know I couldn't do something like that. Not to my family. Not to you." She looked up in surprise at my last words.

"What?"

"What what?"

"What did you mean by that? 'Not to you'?"

"Well… ah…" My mind suddenly blanked out. I hadn't realized I'd said that part out loud. How was I gonna explain that? "Odette… I… this is probably going to sound crazy, but… but the truth is… I…"

"What the hell?" Sam said suddenly. "Holy shit!" Odette and I looked over just in time to see the mustached Hunter raise his big rifle skyward and fire into the air. I winced at the massive .45-70's report before glancing upward towards the full moon. A shape crossed in front of it, a giant winged _something_ that looked like the old _Batman_ emblem. I felt my blood turn to ice.

"Garlgoyle incoming!" Doug shouted. The Hunters all opened up on the massive stone behemoth while the National Guardsmen ran for cover.

I snapped my FAL to my shoulder, drew a bead on the gargoyle as it pitched forward into a dive, and pulled the trigger. _Click_. I hadn't reloaded after turning the Priestess into Voodoo Pulp. I sprinted towards the building as I fished a fresh magazine out of my vest, tracking the gargoyle as it swooped gracefully down towards the sidewalk. As I hit the bolt release, I realized what the stone beast had targeted.

"ODETTE! MOVE! GET OUT OF THERE!" Odette was crouched behind a lamp post, firing her UMP at the gargoyle. She'd tunneled in on the beast so completely that she didn't realize that it was heading right towards her. "_NNNOOOOO!_"

Too late, Odette recognized the danger. She backpedaled away from the lamppost, desperately trying to reload. The gargoyle smashed the street lamp like it was a toothpick before it landed on the sidewalk in front of her. She screamed in absolute terror. Moving impossibly fast for something so huge, the gargoyle grabbed Odette in one huge stone talon and leapt back into the air. The others tracked it with their weapons but didn't fire, unwilling to risk hitting Odette. I could only watch helplessly as the giant creature flapped its wings to gain altitude, then swooped away, banking northwest, out of sight.

Straight towards the Art Museum.

Dominique was already on the radio, shouting orders to everyone on the frequency. "Get AWACS to track that thing, but do not engage it! It's got one of our people! As soon as it hits the ground and we can confirm its let her go, hit it with everything you've got! Have the MCB send in gunships if you have to! In the meantime, I want everyone on the ground who can get that thing in sight to track it! Get in your vehicles and _do not let it out of your sight_!" she got off the radio and turned to us. "That means you too people! Get going! Hey, Cooper, what the hell are you doing?"

I was already at The Beast. I tossed my FAL and Mossberg into the passenger seat before climbing in and closing the door. Dominique suddenly realized what I was doing, and ran over to try and stop me. She grabbed at the door latch, but I'd already locked it. The car was still on. I let off the parking break, shifted into first, and floored the gas, peeling away from the sidewalk. I wound around the building until I reached Broad Street, then turned onto it. I roared down the block, turned onto 16th Street, then turned off right away onto Race Street, raced around the Memorial Fountain, and barreled onto the Ben Franklin Parkway.

The Parkway was littered with half-eaten corpses. I could see the gargoyle soaring over the Parkway, Odette clenched tightly in its talons. It was already starting its dive towards the Art Musuem. It crashed through the roof as I turned onto Kelly Drive and pulled up in front of he Rocky Steps. I stopped the car, killed the engine, then grabbed my weapons and climbed out. I slid the Mossberg into its scabbard, slung the FAL over my shoulder, and double-checked that my Katana was still in its scabbard. I didn't have the wakazashi Dan hadn't given it back to me yet. Then I began marching purposefully up the steps towards the museum.

I knew Robert was already waiting for me.


	29. Chapter 29: The Light vs The Darkness

The inside of the Art Museum was deserted, just as I'd known it would be. There'd been a big sculpture in the center of the lobby, some sort of weird-looking modern art thing that I'd never understood. It was gone now, crushed into dust. Personally, I thought it looked better that way. There was a gaping hole in the roof above where the sculpture had been. The gargoyle must've landed on it. Maybe the behemoth wasn't so bad after all…

Brushing the thought aside, I brought my FAL to low-ready and moved towards the stairs. My footsteps echoed off the marble walls and floor as I climbed the stairs. Added into the dark, empty museum and the fact that I knew there was a Master Vampire waiting for me, it made for a very, very spooky ambiance.

I didn't bother clearing any of the other exhibits as I headed towards Medieval Arms and Armor. Robert wanted to deal with me himself. I could feel it. It was personal: there would be no monsters between me and him.

As I approached Medieval Arms and Armor, I heard voices coming from inside the exhibit. It was Odette. She was pleading with Robert, begging him to stop, to not do this, let her go, please. My blood began to boil. If he'd hurt her, I was going to reach down his throat and rip his black heart out through his mouth. I marched through the doorway, ready for war.

I'm not exactly sure what I'd been expecting to see in there. Probably Robert with Odette pinned up against a wall, him getting ready to feed from her neck. But the two of them standing in the center of the room, Odette shouting at Robert and him just standing there taking it? Not in my wildest dreams. He was actually grinning as she laid into him, the smug bastard. There was something else too. All of the glass in the display cases had been scratched up until the panes were opaque, but none had been broken. Weird.

"ROBERT!" I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls. Both Robert and Odette turned to me, him in surprise, Odette in fear. She knew what was going to happen to me.

"Let her go!" I continued, "You've got what you want, you don't need her anymore."

"I'm sorry," he said, "but who are you, exactly?" His voice was deep and had a thick Chicago accent.

"I'm the guy that iced your brother," I said. My voice made me sound a heck of a lot calmer than I suddenly felt. "You've got me. It's over. Let her go."

"You killed Jonathan?" he asked.

"Yep," I nodded, "put two loads of buckshot down his throat, made his head go 'splodey all over a parking lot."

"Oh, of course," he said, "now I recognize you." He began to walk towards me. I snapped my FAL up, leveling the rifle at the bridge of his nose. "Thank you." He extended his hand towards mine. My jaw hit the floor.

"…huh…?"

"You saved me the trouble of doing it myself."

"Wha…?"

"Jonathan was a fool. He wasn't ready: he didn't know how to fully harness his powers. I told him that he needed to wait before striking out on his own; I needed to train him first. But he didn't listen, he thought he knew better than me. So he ran off and got himself killed by a pathetic blood bag. If you hadn't killed him, I would have. So for that, I thank you, Mister Cooper."

"Wha… wha… wha… wha…?" The gears in my head suddenly locked up. Robert hadn't been gunning for me? "Then what the hell was this all about?"

"You don't know?" Robert was genuinely surprised at my question. "You really don't know?"

"Would I be asking if I did?" I asked, my anger again building. "Why the hell were you coming after me? What do you want with me?"

For a long moment, Robert stared at me like I'd gone bat-shit crazy, then he threw back his head and began laughing hysterically. It was a very creepy laugh, like Vincent Price's laughter. Remember the laughter at the end of Michael Jackson's _Thriller_? Kinda like that, only scarier.

"Wait… you thought… you seriously thought I wanted you?" he said, "You… all of you… really believed that it was _you_ that I wanted?" He started laughing that Vincent Price laugh again. The sound made my skin crawl.

"You… don't want to kill me?" Robert was creepy-laughing too hard to speak, but shook his head 'no.' "So… what the hell was this all about? Why send your minions after the team? What the hell do you want with us?"

"Me." Odette's voice was flat, completely devoid of emotion.

"What?"

"He wanted me."

"He… he wanted… you? But… but that doesn't make sense! Those monsters always came after me, not you…" My boiling blood suddenly turned to ice as I thought back to every encounter we'd had with Robert's monsters. The Diner? Odette had been there. Vermont? Odette was there too. The Harpies at the compound? They'd hit us while we were coming out of Odette's house. The month with no attacks? Odette stayed in the compound with me. She was at my father's office when the wights hit us there. And then she'd stayed in the compound to keep me company while the rest of the team went off hunting and hadn't gotten hit. And the gargoyle outside City Hall had deliberately targeted her, not me. My stomach sank into my shoes.

"What do you want with Odette?" I asked warily. He laughed again. I didn't think it was all that creepy anymore; it was actually starting to get on my nerves.

"You really are an idiot," Robert laughed, "Odette has always been mine, even before I was given this gift." He raised his arms and gestured at his unnaturally-pale body. "And tonight, I will make her my queen."

"Your… queen?" I suddenly felt a weird sense of déjà-vu, but could not for the life of me figure out why.

"Yes!" Robert said triumphantly, "Tonight, Odette and I will be reunited at last! She will partake of my blood…"

"The hell I will!" Odette spat.

"…and she will become my queen!" Robert continued, too caught up in his monologue to pay attention to her, "She will share my gift, gain my immortality and my incredible power, and then we shall rule the world!" I ignored him, idly wondering why evil villains always had to monologue as I wracked my mind, trying to figure out why this situation seemed so damn familiar. Evil villain with superhuman, "magical" powers kidnaps Odette to make her his queen… Wait a second. Odette, evil villain, castle? No way…

"You have got to be kidding me!"

"Oh, I assure you, I am not joking," Robert said smugly, "With Odette by my side, I shall…"

"No, hang on, shut up for a second," I said, "That's your whole plot? Kidnap Odette, make her marry you, the two of you rule the world? That's it?"

"Yes," Robert bit out, not happy at all that I'd interrupted his grand-standing spotlight moment, "That's all there is too it. You really are stupid, even for a bloodbag." Now it was my turn to laugh like an idiot. "What?" he demanded, "Do I amuse you? Do you think I'm a clown?"

"Oh… oh you have _got_ to be kidding me," I said, "Really? I mean, would it kill an evil villain to actually come up with something _original_ for once?" Both Robert and Odette were looking at me like I'd just dived head-first off the deep end.

"Steve…" Odette said, "are you okay?"

"You don't see it?" I asked.

"See what?" the two of them said together.

"This!" I swept my arms up and out, gesturing at the whole room, "Us! This whole situation!"

"What's wrong with it?" Robert asked. He looked really pretty pissed now that I'd insulted his plan twice in less than a minute.

"It's freakin' _Swan Lake_!" Odette and Robert just stared at me. Yeah, they'd definitely thought I'd lost my mind. "Think about it! Evil villain kidnaps beautiful girl, brings her to a castle on a lake…"

"We're on a river," Odette said.

"Close enough. So he brings her to the castle on a lake, tires to force her to become his queen so he can rule the world, then the hero shows up to kick his butt and rescue her. I mean, come on, even our names are close. Odette; Robert, Rothbart; Steven… not all that close to Siegfried, but close enough." I saw the lightbulbs click on over their heads.

"Ah, I see," Robert said, "You're right; it is very similar. But you do know how the story ends, don't you?"

"Yeah…" I started but he cut me off.

"Siegfried fails. He vows to protect Odette, to break her curse, but he betrays her and she remains by Rothbart's side forever."

"Yeah, maybe, but I never liked that version," I said.

"Really? Which do you prefer, then?"

"The one in an animated movie I had when I was a kid…"

"Oh, please not those God-awful cartoons from Disney."

"They weren't Disney, and I'm not talking about those anyway. It was a Japanese anime from the 70's."

"I'm not familiar with it."

"Yeah, it was pretty rare State-side."

"How did it end?"

"Epic swordfight," I said, "And Siegfried kicked Rothbart's fat ass." I hoped that my face didn't betray the lie, even though the swordfight in the film was pretty awesome…

"You really think you can win?" Robert said as he began laughing again.

"I don't have to win," I said, "just kill you." His laughter increased ten-fold.

"Foolish human. You can't defeat me."

"I can damn well try."

"Steve, no!" Odette cried, "He'll kill you."

"I know," I said calmly. "Doesn't mean I can't take him with me."

"Steve, please! Don't do this!" Odette pleaded. I slowly walked over to her, not taking my eyes off of Robert. I fished my keys out of my pocket and pressed them into Odette's hand.

"The Beast is parked in front of the museum, at the bottom of the Rocky Steps," I told her, "Take it and get the hell out of here."

"Stephen…" tears welled up in her eyes as she pleaded with me.

"Go," I said softly, finally turning to face her "Please, go. I don't want you to see this."

"Stephen, please, don't do this."

"I don't have a choice."

"Why? Because some stupid dream said you were going to die here?"

"No," I said, "Because I love you more than I love my own life." Her eyes went wide, her jaw fell slack. Tears began to flow down her cheeks.

"Stephen… I…"

"Go," I said urgently as I turned to face Robert, "Get out of here. Go, and don't look back."

"Are you finished?" Robert asked impatiently. I shouldered my FAL.

"I'm ready whenever you are." I said. An evil smile spread across Robert's face as he slowly started towards me. Then, to my surprise, he paused and began stroking his chin thoughtfully. "What?" I asked.

"You know, if this really is a scene from _Swan Lake_, it would be more appropriate it we stayed true to the story, don't you think?"

"What do you mean by… oh." I realized what he was talking about. "Yeah, yeah that would be more appropriate." I slowly set my FAL on the floor as Robert walked over to a nearby display case.

"Steve, what are you doing?" Odette asked as I unsheathed my Mossberg and set it beside the FAL.

"Trust me," I said, "Now go!" I drew both my SIGs and placed them atop the pile.

"No!" she said defiantly, "I won't leave you!"

"Odette, please!" I begged.

"No, Odette," Robert said as he reached the case. "Stay and watch." He smashed his fist through the glass and removed something from the case.

It was the Persian Scimitar from my dream.

I walked towards him, stopping near the center of the room. He approached, sword at his side, and stopped a few feet away from me. I drew my katana and lowered myself into _sonkyo_ – a wide horse-stance with the katana's pommel held below the navel and the tip of the blade pointed at Robert's nose. Robert held the scimitar – I saw the display placard listed it as a shamshir – in front of him like a European fencer.

"To the death," Robert said.

"To the death." I nodded.

For a long moment, we stood there, motionless, staring each other down. Then Robert raised the shamshir over his head and charged.

Odette screamed as our blades clashed together in a shower of sparks. Just like in the dream, Robert was unnaturally fast. But like in the dream, he wasn't skilled. His attacks were wild, rushed, sloppy. I was able to easy parry them and pass through his defenses, drawing black blood from his arms, neck and chest. But I couldn't land the kill shots; the _mann_ strike through the forehead into the brain, or cleaving the head clean from the body.

Robert's intensity slowly began to rise as we circled around the room. He became more focused, his attacks less wild. He was holding back. I'd known it from the moment our swords had first touched, but only now was it becoming readily apparent.

He hacked down at my shoulder. I skipped out of the way. His blade plunged into a display case, shattering it, the force of the blow collapsing the case's legs and sending the display crashing to the marble floor. I came in with another sweeping cut aimed at his neck. He blocked it effortlessly, then came in with a vicious downward stroke that would have taken my arm off at the shoulder if I hadn't managed to block it. The shamshir's ancient Damascus steel cut a deep gouge into the side of my blade.

I skipped backwards, out of range, then charged forward again with an upward cut, aiming for his wrist. If I could take off his sword hand, I could by myself enough time to take his head… only he once again slapped my blade aside and hacked at my chest. I skipped back again as the razor-sharp tip of his sword ripped through the front of my armor. He'd missed drawing blood by millimeters.

I came in again, this time for a _mann_ strike. Robert easily batted my blade aside with his, the edge of the shamshir's blade riding down the katana, leaving a trail sparks in its wake. The vision of Robert lopping off my fingers suddenly flashed through my mind, and I quickly lowered the blade until the tip was touching the floor. Robert's strike grazed my knuckles, drawing blood. Ignoring the pain – it felt about the same as a papercut – I reversed my grip and swept the sword upwards, intent on cleaving Robert in two from groin to crown. Once again, Robert parried me, smiling wickedly as he did so. Then his blade shot forward and up; he wanted to do the same to me. I parried him, badly. The tip of his blade raked through my thigh.

Odette screamed as I let out a gasp of pain and fell to my knees. Robert laughed triumphantly and raised the shamshir over his head for a killing blow. I brought my katana up to parry, barely managing to stop the attack.

"ROBERT!" Odette screamed, not in fear, but… anger? "WE NEED TO START SEEING OTHER PEOPLE!" Robert's face had just enough time to register surprise before a round screamed over my head and blew out his left eyeball. I threw myself to the floor and rolled out of the line of fire as Odette emptied my FAL into the shocked Master Vampire. "Nothing personal," she said as the gun ran dry and she reloaded, "I'm just not into the whole evil-undead thing." She lowered the gun and raced over to me. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I said, doing my best not to wince as she helped me back to my feet, "It's just a scratch."

"You ungrateful bitch!" Robert screamed. His wounds had healed before the rounds finished passing through his body, and now he looked _really_ pissed. "I offer you immortality and unlimited power, and this is how you repay me? You told me that you loved me!"

"The man I loved was killed by a naga in that lake outside of Chicago," Odette replied. There was no pain in her voice now, only cold, hard anger. "I don't know who the hell you are." Robert let out a scream of incoherent rage as he charged us, swinging his sword like a madman. I shoved Odette out of the way and met his attack. The force of the blow sent me staggering backwards. Pain raced down my wounded leg and I nearly fell again. Robert hacked at my head. I ducked under his attack and tried to decapitate him again. He blocked so hard that the katana was almost knocked from my hands.

He came in again, trying to lop my legs off at the knees. I skipped back and barely managed a parry, riding his blade up to his chest. He caught my blade on his cross-guard, shoved my weapon aside, and tried to stab me through the heart. I barely managed to knock his blade out of the way. The edge tore through my left arm and I let out another scream as white-hot pain shot into my shoulder.

I instinctively lashed out with my leg, catching Robert hard in the gut. He hadn't been expecting the blow and stumbled backwards. Another wave of acute agony shot through me; I'd used my wounded leg. Fighting through the pain, I launched myself at him, trying for a desperate one-handed _mann_ strike. Robert shot his blade up and blocked. My blade, weakened by his earlier strike, snapped in two from the brutal impact.

Odette screamed as Robert brought his sword down, slashing through my other arm and laying it open nearly to the bone. Before the pain could hit me, he brought his blade back in close and then plunged it deep into my unhurt thigh. My limbs suddenly felt like they were on fire. I let out a wailing howl of pain. I could hear Odette screaming as I clattered to the ground, my broken sword falling away. Robert began laughing triumphantly.

"It's over!" he pronounced, "You are defeated, Stephen. Yield and I promise you a quick, painless death."

"Thanks," I bit through clenched teeth, "But I'd rather be forced to watch Pelosi, Napolitano and Clinton compete in a wet T-shirt contest."

"You are a sick man," Robert said, and I smiled as I saw him shudder at the mental images my suggestion provoked.

"So you can take your offer," I continued, "and shove it up your undead ass."

"Have it your way," Robert said with a shrug.

His first kick caught me in the ribs. The sound of bones cracking echoed off the marble walls. The impact rolled me over onto my side, so his second kick hit my abdomen. I felt muscles tear as the blow actually launched me into the air across the room. I landed hard on my left forearm. Bones snapped as my elbow bent the wrong way. Odette's scream mingled with my own as I slid across the floor and crashed into my pile of guns. My eyes watered from the pain. I could make out Robert stalking across the floor towards me. I groped desperately for a weapon. My blood-slicked fingers brushed against my SIG P220 S4. I snatched the pistol up and fired. Each shot sent a fresh wave of pain up my arm, but I fought through it, struggling to keep the pistol from slipping out of my hand. The slide locked back. I threw the pistol at his face. He snatched it out of the air and crushed with one hand as he drew close.

"You bastard!" I hissed. It hurt just breathing; talking was pure agony. "That was a limited edition model!" Robert just smiled wickedly as he grabbed me by my armor's drag strap and hurled me across the room. Stars exploded behind my eyes as I slammed into the cold, hard wall.

My body hurt. Everything hurt. My eyes, my ears, my teeth, even my fingernails all screamed with pain. My head swimming, I dimly saw Robert marching towards me, that evil smile stretched wide across his cheeks. He looked like a predator closing in for the kill.

Both of my arms were sliced open. One was badly broken. One leg had been stabbed, the other sliced through. I could feel the five broken ribs, and my abdomen burned. I could barely breathe. I was helpless, completely at Robert's mercy.

And I'd be damned if I was going to go out like that.

My Mossberg's bayonet was still strapped to my armor. I yanked it from its sheath as I slowly, painfully forced myself to my feet.

"You just won't take a hint, will you?" Robert asked.

"I can be thick sometimes," I hissed. I lunged at him, my weak legs almost sliding out from under me on the blood-slicked marble. Robert easily caught my wrist as I tried to sink the blade into his shoulder, then snapped it, almost as an afterthought. The bayonet fell from my hand as fresh agony raced up my already-bleeding arm. I dropped to my knees as Robert released his grip, then he savagely drove his knee into my solar plexus. I slid back across the floor, body totally awash in pain. My head swam. My eyes couldn't focus. Something bubbled up into my mouth as I tried to breathe. I threw up, spewing a red mass all over the floor. I dimly recognized it as blood.

Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the sound of glass smashing. Then wood, metal, and string stretching, a loud click, and rustling of wood on wood. Then Robert appeared in my vision.

He was holding the crossbow.

"Now Stephen," he said as if he were gently admonishing a child, "be a good boy and die." He leveled the weapon at my heart.

"_NNNNOOOOOOO!_ Stop it! Please, Robert, stop!" Tears were streaming down Odette's face as she grabbed Robert's arm, desperately trying to pull him away from me. She might as well have been trying to stop a freight train. "Please!" she begged him, "I'll do whatever you want, just please stop hurting him!"

"Odette, no!" I wheezed. Robert smiled wickedly, and I realized that this had been his plan all along.

"You will willingly partake of my blood and become my Queen?" Odette nodded, sobbing.

"No! Odette!" Robert slammed his foot down on my sliced-open arm to silence me. It didn't work; the pain in the rest of my body was so acute, so intense, that I barely felt it. "Odette, look at me! Look at me! I'm not worth it! Please! Don't do this! Look at me! I'm dead anyway! He's already killed me! Don't do it! Let him finish me! Please! Odette!" Odette closed her eyes and looked away, unable to meet my gaze.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Odette, no! Don't!" I could only watch helplessly as Robert slowly, almost tenderly cupped his hand around Odette's neck and pulled her face close to his, towards the kiss of eternal damnation. Robert closed his eyes and turned to face Odette, smiling with anticipation. His incisors began to slowly elongate, protruding out from his lips. The loaded crossbow never wavered away from me.

Tears streamed down my face, not of pain, but of grief. Odette knew what this would do to her, but she didn't care. She was throwing away her life for mine, and there was nothing I could do to stop her.

At that moment, Doctor Bryson's words echoed through my head.

"_When this threat finally manifests itself and you realize its true nature, you will eventually find yourself forced to make a choice. You will have to choose between two lives. The person whose life you chose to save will be saved… the other will die."_

I was wrong: Doctor Bryson hadn't lied to me. Doug and Dominique were right. Hodge's death hadn't been my fault. He'd made the decision up on that roof, not me. And I hadn't known Robert's true plot then. I knew it now. This was the time. This was the place. One life for another. And it wasn't Odette's decision.

It was mine.

"_NO!_" With the last ounce of my strength, I lurched forward, flailing out towards the crossbow. My aim was true; my numb, useless hand slapped hard against the trigger bar. The ancient mechanism worked perfectly. The sear tripped. The catch released the string. The bolt plunged into my chest.

The pain was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. All the injuries I'd ever received my appendix, breaking my arm the first time, getting my tonsils out, getting the crap beat out of me in karate class, my run-in with Jonathan back when this all started, the four months of preparing for the Newbie course, the course itself, and the grievous injuries Robert had just inflicted on me – all of them combined paled in comparison to the pure, unbridled agony that now coursed through every fiber of my body. I tried to pull myself up, but something was pinning me down. More pain arced through me. I wrenched my eyes open and saw a giant hole in my chest. A blood-soaked feather was poking out. I realized that the bolt must have passed through me and into the marble floor. It was held in place inside my body only by the fletching.

I dimly heard Odette screaming my name, then a roar of absolute fury. I hazily recognized that as Robert. I felt an impact, then more pain as the bolt was ripped free from my body. Then came the sensation of flying, followed by a crash, more pain, the sound of glass shattering, something big hitting the floor, and then even more pain. It hurt to move, hurt to breathe, hurt to think, hurt to exist.

I painfully unscrewed my eyelids and looked around. I was surrounded pieces by broken wood, metal and glass. No, I realized, the pieces of metal weren't broken, they were swords. Old medieval swords that the knights had carried in the Crusades.

"YOU WILL BE MY QUEEN!"

I slowly craned my head over towards the sound, every millimeter of movement an unspeakable agony. Robert had his arms wrapped around Odette and was trying to press his mouth against hers, forcing her to partake of his blood. She was fighting back, trying to push his face away from hers, trying to worm her way out of his grasp, but she might as well have been fighting against a hydraulic press. Robert's incisors drew closer and closer to Odette's lips.

I collapsed back against the destroyed display, silent tears plowing fiery trails down my face. It even hurt to cry.

I'd failed. I'd made my choice, chosen Odette's life over mine, put a crossbow bolt into my own heart, all for nothing. Robert was going to turn Odette into a slave of evil, damning her for all eternity. And it was my fault. I'd thought that I could defeat Robert on my own. I'd been wrong, and now I'd doomed us both.

"_You won't be able to defeat him alone."_ Doctor Bryson's words echoed in my mind yet again. And I knew he'd been right. I hadn't been able to defeat Robert alone. And now I was going to die here, watching Odette be transformed into a slave to darkness. I tried in vain to rise to my feet, but my body wouldn't respond. I was bleeding out, dying. I had nothing left.

"_But you aren't dead yet, Stephen,_" Doctor Bryson's voice said, "_And you do have a weapon left. You know what it is. Use it!_" I closed my eyes in defeat. I did know what his "weapon" was. And I'd used it before, only to have it fail spectacularly each time. But I had no choice, and I knew it. It was Odette's only chance.

"Dear Lord," I whispered, "I'm going to die here. I know it, and I don't care. But Lord, before you take me, please give me the strength to defeat Robert. Please, please help me to save Odette. Don't let him make her a slave to darkness. Use me as Your instrument. Please, God, help me."

Nothing. I lay there, blood and tears leaking from my broken body. It was over.

Then, the strangest thing. The pain began to vanish. It seemed to radiate away from my core, down my arms and legs, and out my fingers and toes. I looked down my arms. My armor was still ripped open and the fabric was soaked with blood, but my wound appeared to have stopped bleeding. I wiggled my fingers. They responded perfectly, no trace of pain. I slowly rolled over, picked up one of the swords, and shakily got to my feet. Robert saw me out of the corner of his eye.

"You just won't die, will you?" he asked, finally releasing Odette. She stood there, rooted to the floor in shock, unable to believe that I was still standing. "Well then," Robert continued, "this time I'll finish you for good. No more holding back." His incisors grew even longer, his features became contorted and swept back, his ears grew larger and pointed upward. His body contorted and elongated as he shed his false hope of humanity and revealed his true form. Most people say vampires look like bats.

I think they look like exactly like demons.

Robert lunged at me, moving at impossible speed. I calmly raised the sword, not into a fighting stance, but held it by the blade so that the pommel was pointed at the ceiling and the tip of the blade at the floor.

The design of the Crusaders' swords was not born out of practicality or effectiveness, but out of symbolism. The sword was meant to be a symbol of their Christian faith.

The sword in my hand had been deliberately formed in the shape of The Cross.

Robert stopped so fast, it looked as if he'd slammed into a brick wall. He let out a shriek of pain shrank back from me, holding up his hands over his head, as if trying to ward off the holy symbol. I advanced on him, holding the sword high. He skittered backwards like a roach fleeing a flashlight as I recited words that had been etched in my memory as a young boy.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name. Thy Kingdome come. Thy Will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven." Robert let out an unearthly wail, each word like a dagger tearing through his undead flesh. "Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from Evil." Robert clenched his hands over his ears, futilely trying to block out The Lord's Prayer. "For Thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and The Glory, for ever and ever. Amen."

"NOOOO!" Robert screeched. His skin had begun to smolder as the room suddenly filled with light. He shrank back into the shadows. "This is impossible! You cannot defeat me! I… I am more powerful than any human!"

"It is not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit, sayeth The Lord." I replied. He shrank away from me, away from the Light, until he'd backed into the corner.

"NNNNOOOOOOOO!" he screamed. "YOU CANNOT DEFEAT MEEEEEEEEE!" I drew the blade back for the final strike.

"I can do all things," I told him, "Through Christ who strengthens me." I plunged the blade into him, sliding it between his ribs and spearing his black heart.

Robert's inhuman screech pierced through the room, shattering every single window and display case in the entire museum. The flesh around the sword's blade smoldered, smoked, and then erupted into brilliant white flames. He bent his head back, mouth open wide in a protracted wail. The flames spread across his flesh, then erupted from his mouth, nose, ears, and eyes. The high-pitched scream reached a crescendo as Robert's body was completely consumed by fire, then abruptly cut off as the flames suddenly extinguished themselves, leaving behind only bones that quickly disintegrated into dust and a blackened skull with incisors as long as my middle finger.

I finally released my grip on the sword, which had been driven deep into the marble wall. The light that had filled the room, and I fell to my knees as my newfound strength faded away.

"To You be the victory and the glory, O Lord," I said, "Thank you." Then darkness consumed me once again.


	30. Chapter 30: In The Arms of An Angel

I was standing on the shores of the lake again. The sun was low in the sky. The smell of pine was thick in the air. I walked over to the waterline, climbed atop one of the ancient boulders, and crouched down on one knee to watch the sun paint the sky and water brilliant shades of gold and crimson, adding in wisps of violet for clouds.

After a few moments, I felt a familiar presence next to me. I smiled.

"Hello, Doctor Bryson."

"You did it, Stephen," he said with a warm smile of his own, "I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks."

"Though I must admit, for a moment, I thought you were…"

"Dead meat?" I asked. He nodded, "Yeah, I thought I was toast too."

"But you pulled through."

"I had help," I said, "Thanks."

"He gave you the strength."

"But you pointed me back in His direction," I reminded him, "And you taught me to trust Him in the first place. I know that He was the reason that I could defeat Robert, but you still deserve a little credit."

"Just a little?" he asked with that impish grin of his.

"Well, okay, a decent amount of credit."

"I'll take that," he replied. For a long moment, we just sat there on the rock, watching the sunset."

"So…" I finally asked, "What happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do I go to the Pearly Gates now, or… do I get the Eternal Barbecue Pit?" Doctor Bryson burst out laughing at that. "What?"

"Nothing," he chuckled, "I've just never heard that particular phrase before. Eternal Barbecue Pit! Oh, that's good, Stephen. That's very good."

"Thanks," I said, unable to hold back a smile of my own. "But seriously, what's going to happen to me?"

"Why, you're going to go back."

"Back? You mean, back to the world?" He nodded, "But… ah, I mean… I'm pretty sure I died back there."

"You did die," He said, "You bled out after Robert threw you into that display case."

"You're kidding." He just looked at me. "You're serious? I'm really dead?"

"You were."

"Were?"

"As a doornail."

"No, I mean, I was? As in past-tense? As in 'no longer dead'?"

"That would be correct."

"But… how?" He shot me another look. "Okay, sorry, stupid question. I know He's done that before. Lazarus, the official's daughter, and I'm probably forgetting some more. I mean why? Why me?"

"Why not?"

"Well, I mean… I questioned and doubted Him for years…"

"But you returned to Him. That's all that mattered."

"Yeah, but…"

"Do you _want_ to be dead?"

"No! I mean, uh, yea- yes, I want to go to Heaven, but not now. Uh, I mean…"

"I know what you meant, Stephen," he said, unable to hold back his laughter.

"So… if I'm not dead, anymore anyway, why am I here? Why'd I pass out?"

"You need to recover," he explained, "You had His Power channeled through you, remember? The human body isn't equipped to have that power start and stop running through it that suddenly. You need to detox for a few days."

"But I'll wake up?" He nodded.

"You will, don't worry. It isn't your time yet. There is still plenty of evil in the world that need killing."

"I know," I said, "but I was actually…"

"…thinking about Odette," Doctor Bryson finished. He smiled at me again.

"She's suffered enough through this, hasn't she? She's lost so much."

"That she has."

"I just… I don't want her to have to suffer anymore."

"I know, Stephen," he said, "I know. That's why you're going to wake up."

"When?"

"Now," Doctor Bryson said, pointing at the sun. It had begun to slip below the horizon. "Goodbye, Stephen."

"Wait, will I get to see you again?"

"I'll still keep watch over the two of you, but hopefully we won't have to meet like this again for a very long time."

"What's that mean?"

"It means that hopefully, you'll live a very long, happy life."

"No, I mean… you said 'the two of you'? What's that supposed to mean."

"You'll see," he said with that impish prankster grin of his, "You'll see. Goodbye, Stephen." The sun fell out of sight.

I was laying on something soft. Something else – a blanket? – was draped over me. There was something soft under my head too. Was I in a bed? I slowly opened my eyes and saw…

"Heaven," I said, "I've died and gone to heaven."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because," I said, "There's an angel standing over me." Odette playfully swatted my arm.

"That's really bad," she laughed.

"It's true," I insisted. "Where am I?"

"Temple University Hospital," she said.

"How bad is it?"

"Huh?"

"How bad am I hurt?"

"You're not."

"What?"

"I know. Your body was completely healed somehow.

"Wow."

"I know. Oh, I almost forgot; Jon and Dominique figured that you'd want this once you woke up." She reached into her purse and pulled out my baby SIG P220, the one Robert hadn't destroyed.

"Thanks," I said. She handed me the pistol and slid it under my pillow. "So if I'm not hurt, what am I doing here?"

"You've been in a coma.

"A coma? For how long?

"Three days."

"Three days? Seriously?"

"Yes. Why?" Now it was my turn to start laughing. "What? What's so funny?"

"It's a long story," I said, "But you'd better sit down first; you're not going to believe—" At that moment, the door to my room swung open. "Forget what I just said about Heaven." In stormed none other than Agents Willard and Simpkin.

"What do you two wa-HEY!" she shouted as Agent Willard shoved her against the wall and leveled his Glock at her face. I immediately snatched my SIG from under the pillow and pointed it at Willard's head. Simpkin instinctively drew his customized Delta Elite and aimed it at my face. Odette already had her S&W 4516 out and leveled it at Simpkin's nose.

Safeties snapped off. Hammers were thumbed back. Fingers touched triggers. We were all ounces of pressure away from death. For what felt like an eternity, no one moved.

"What the hell is going on here?" Simpkin finally asked.

"Well," Odette said, "I'm not really into action movies, but I think this is called a Mexican Standoff."

"I know that," Simpkin said, "Willard, what the hell are we doing here?"

"Exactly like I told you," Willard replied, "We're taking out a vampire."

"Bullshit. He isn't a vampire and you know it."

"So what? It's a bureaucratic screw-up, and if we get two less 'Hunters,' out of it, I'm not complaining." He said the word 'Hunters' like you or I would say 'vermin.'

"Bureaucratic screw-up my ass," Odette said, "Like it would take three days for the paperwork to terminate a potential Master Vampire to come through."

"How dare you bark at me like that," Willard roared, "I am a Federal Agent." He pressed his pistol against her temple and wrapped his hand around her throat.

"Let her go," I growled.

"Or what?" he scoffed, "You'll kill me? You don't have the balls." I lowered my point of aim a few feet.

"You sure?" I asked, "You want to risk yours?"

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Put the weapon down," Simpkin commanded.

"Or else I'll kill her!" Willard added.

"I wasn't talking to him," Simpkin said. He took his Delta Elite off of me and aimed it at Willard's head. "Put it down, Thomas."

"What? Donald, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Arresting you on two counts of attempted murder, for starters, along with misuse of government resources, forging reports…"

"You son of a…" He released Odette and spun towards Simpkin, trying to bring his Glock to bear on the younger agent. He never made it. Simpkin's fist caught him square in the left temple and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. Simpkin quickly snatched Willard's Glock away and tucked in his own waistband, then pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt and shackled his partner's wrists.

"Sorry about this," he said as he slung the unconscious Willard over his shoulder and fireman-carried him out of the room. "Get better, Mister Cooper."

For a long moment, Odette and I could only stare at the door. Then she holstered her Smith, and I decocked the SIG and slid it back under my pillow. I looked over at Odette, who was rubbing her throat where Willard had grabbed it.

"What the hell just happened?"


	31. Epilogue

We never did learn why Willard tried to kill me; he took his motive to the grave. We found out later that he'd been summarily fired from the MCB and was later charged with attempted murder, forgery, filing false reports, tampering with evidence, and a whole host of other things. All this, of course, came after he'd been diagnosed with several personality disorders, many of them violent and all of them severe. He wound up spending the rest of his life locked away in the High-Security wing of the Appleton Asylum, near MHI's main compound in Cazador, Alabama.

The final death toll in Philadelphia numbered over 10,000, with five times that number injured. The official story was that a massive riot had broken out after the Phillies lost, but I doubt many people believed it. Only Eagles Fans riot. And the City Council President's plot ultimately backfired: the city fell even deeper into debt, requiring massive amounts of Federal aid on top of the millions of dollars in disaster relief it had already received. It would take Philadelphia years to recover, and the fact that roughly 30% of the city's surviving population moved away within a year only made things harder.

Unfortunately, the city would have to rebuild without the help of Officer Daniel Hampton. The department brass had caught wind of his "use of unauthorized weaponry" during the outbreak (i.e. his Mosin-Nagants) and had promptly fired him. Fortunately, Doug had given him a business card before MHI pulled out of the city, and he'd promptly signed up for the next Newbie course. As luck would have it, I didn't find out about his career change until he walked into my classroom.

I'd been temporarily reassigned to Cazador as an instructor as soon as I was released from the hospital. Officially, I'd been brought in because the Philadelphia Incident (as it later became known) had produced an unusually high number of recruits, so Earl needed all the help he could get running the Newbie course, and I was supposed to be recovering after my ordeal with Robert. The rumor mill said that my little dying-and-coming-back-to-life stunt had really freaked Earl out and he wanted me close by so he could keep an eye on me. Judging by the weird looks Earl gave me every time he saw me for the first few weeks of the course, I believed the rumor mill.

Dan wasn't the only surprise student I had during the course: Donald Simpkin also decided to join MHI. It turned out that he'd been suspended for assaulting a senior agent, nevermind the fact that said senior agent was about to murder two civilians. He'd resigned in protest rather than accept the mark on his record, and had joined MHI so he could continue Hunting. He later told me that he'd never really fit in at the MCB and had been thinking about leaving for a while. The incident in the hospital and the subsequent backlash against him only affirmed his decision.

Teaching wasn't all that bad, but it did have two main drawbacks. First, I was out of the field and not hunting for four months, and second, I was away from Odette for four months. Words couldn't describe how much I missed her. We talked via phone and email fairly often, but that didn't do much to comfort me.

Eventually, the Newbie course ended, bringing nearly forty new Hunters into our ranks. More importantly, Earl released me from my teaching job and sent me back to Scranton. The drive back up north felt agonizingly long, not helped by the fact that I had to stop for gas pretty often. The Beast's new rear differential and transmission did wonders to improve fuel economy, but the big engine still gulped down gasoline like my mother drinks coffee. And that's saying something.

By the time we reached the compound, both me and the team's newest member were both anxious to get back home. Jon was on guard duty at the front gate. He waved to us as we approached.

"Hey guys!" he said as I pulled up, "Been expecting you!"

"Hey Jon, how's it going?"

"Not bad, although Dominique's kind of ticked at you."

"Me? What'd I do?"

"You started something with The Beast. Now half the team's got muscle cars."

"You're kidding!"

"Nope. Scotty bought himself a '71 Plymouth Hemi 'Cuda right after you left, then Chris got a '69 Dodge Charger about a month later. Even Shannon's in on it: she bought a '70 Chevy Nova SS a couple of weeks after Chris got his Charger. The three of them set up a drag strip and a road-race course in the back of the compound and race every weekend."

"Seriously?"

"Yep, and Shannon's itching to have a shot at The Beast."

"_Shannon_?"

"Yeah, she's convinced that she can take you in the road-race."

"Yeah, right. When pigs fly."

"Maybe, maybe not. She's running a Hotchkis Suspension setup like yours. Anyway, you can unload your stuff and your passenger at the main building."

"Not the house?"

"Nope. After the thing with the Harpies, Earl got on Dominique's case about ditching the houses and moving the team back into the suites. She finally agreed to it a few weeks after you left for Alabama."

"Damn, I liked my house."

"Yeah, I liked mine too, but you know, whatever."

"Yeah, whatever. I'll catch you later, man."

"See you."

The familiar drive back into the compound went by real quick, and as I pulled up in front of the main building, I saw another welcome face waiting for me. No sooner had I pulled The Beast to a stop than my passenger bolted from the car and raced towards her.

"Hondo!" Odette said right before the big Rottweiler crashed into her, nearly knocking her down. "Yes, I missed you too, boy," she said as he mercilessly attacked her hands and face with his tongue. "Hey, stop that! Hondo, off!"

"Hondo, get down!" I called as I climbed out of the car, "Heel!" Hondo reluctantly broke off his assault and returned to my side. "Sorry about that."

"No, it's okay," Odette said as she wiped the dog slobber off her face with her sleeve, "I missed him too. How are you doing?"

"Not too bad. It's definitely good to be back, though. How've you been?"

"I'm doing all right." An awkward silence suddenly fell over us. "Ah… what that thing Hondo's wearing?"

"Oh, that. It's based on a K9 Storm Riot Protection vest. Scotty made it for him after we had that run-in with the Hell Cat."

"I heard about that. Is Hondo okay?"

"Yeah, but by the Grace of God. He got torn up real bad, but you should've seen the Hell Cat. Hondo impressed Earl enough that he dubbed him an official Hunter."

"Wow!"

"Yeah." We both knew first-hand just how difficult it is to impress Earl Harbinger. That awkward silence returned again.

"Can I give you a hand with your stuff?"

"Thanks, but I got it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I don't have all that much stuff." I only had a duffel bag and a suitcase. And, of course, Hondo's stuff and my guns, but that I could get later.

The elevator ride up to the second floor was uncomfortably silent, as was the walk down to my room. It wasn't until we finally reached the end of the hallway that Odette broke the ice again.

"We never did get to talk much about the museum."

"No, I don't think we did," I said, "Why'd you do it?"

"Excuse me?"

"You agreed to become Robert's queen, to partake of his blood. You knew what that meant; eternal damnation and all that badness, but you agreed anyway. Why?"

"He… he was beating you to a pulp," Odette replied after a moment's hesitation. "He was going to kill you. I…"

"I was dead anyway," I said, "Even without the crossbow, I was bleeding out."

"My father's a doctor, remember? He always says that so long as there's life, there's hope. I knew that MHI was coming in force, and I knew that if I could get him to stop… hurting you, they'd get you out. I… I couldn't let him kill you. What about you? Why did you do it? You knew you couldn't beat him, but you fought him anyway, and then you shot yourself with that crossbow. Why?"

"Two reasons. The crossbow was because I'm not worth that kind of sacrifice, and I fought because I meant what I said. I love you more than anything on this Earth." Odette looked as though she'd just been struck by lightning.

"Steve… I…"

"Odette," I said quickly, "I know I'm not the perfect guy, and I've treated you like crap sometimes, and nothing I say or do will ever make up for it, and I know it's so soon after losing Robert but I…"

She cut me off by pulling me into her arms and kissing me.

"I love you too, Stephen."

Whatever else I'd meant to say suddenly evaporated from my mind. I was suddenly gripped by an insane impulse. It was crazy, I knew I'd be crazy to try it. But what the hell. I dropped down on my knee and pulled the ring from my pocket. Odette's hands flew to her mouth in shock.

"Odette Morgan, will you…"

"Yes!" O my God! Yes!"

**The End**


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